


Of Truth and Hearts

by MissFenixx



Category: The Beatles (Band)
Genre: Alpha Paul, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alpha/Omega, Angst, Depression, F/F, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Smut, Happy Ending, M/M, Mpreg, Omega John, One Big Happy Family, Other, PPD, Suicidal Thoughts, and then the story'll continue with kids and their lives, basically i narrate john's pregnancy, but happy ending, cuz i can't write smut, explicit male pregnancy, lesbian couple, not too explicit smut, self-conscious John, trying to fit it with canon
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-01
Updated: 2020-12-30
Packaged: 2021-03-06 05:14:23
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 25,169
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25658005
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MissFenixx/pseuds/MissFenixx
Summary: "Oh, hold me like a babyThat will not fall asleepCurl me up inside youAnd let me hear you through the heat"-Suzanne Vega, "Gypsy"“This moment will just be another story someday.”-Stephen Chbosky, "The Perks of Being a Windflower"*    *    *This is planned to be a somewhat long ABO fic that'll go through John's first pregnancy in 1964 to their settlement as a "big happy family" in the 70s, passing through a shitload of the canon drama of the late 60s that I'll adapt to fit the story (most of which is John having crises), and a lot of the kids' involvement in making everyone's lives better (Stella's alpha temper defying the best of Paul's patience, much to John's amusement).
Relationships: Cynthia Lennon/Phyllis McKenzie, John Lennon/Paul McCartney, Maureen Cox/Ringo Starr, Pattie Boyd/George Harrison
Comments: 26
Kudos: 38





	1. Of The Beginning

**Part I.** **_The Courting._**

For some reason, everybody seemed to think that it was Paul.

They could all definitely smell the omega scent whenever they left a venue, the scent-blocker sweated off during the performances, but they all seemed to come to the conclusion that it had to belong to Paul, the cute baby-faced one with a big butt and a charming personality. To the boys, it was hilarious, considering how obviously alpha Paul was to them, all dominant and collected. He was always the one to plan things out, order first at a restaurant, give the indications, and all in all make the decisions. He was so obviously in control.

If anything, it was less shocking that they hadn’t thought of John as the culprit of the smell, though. John made sure to build up the charade of the tough boy, always talking a bit too much and acting all confident around people: it wasn’t that weird they thought him an alpha. It just proved that not even their fans paid enough attention. Though, to be honest, some of them thought beta George to be the owner of the omega scent, so at least they _saw_ beyond Paul’s face a bit.

On the other hand, and beyond what the press and the fans might or not know, the boys themselves didn’t really talk about it. Never had, now that Ringo gave it some thought, although they’d all found out in a way or another as time went by. It seemed that the omega jokes had come to an end as they started to figure it out, and now they all just silently knew.

John was an omega. He hated it, but couldn’t do much about it apart from hiding and pretending really hard to be something else. Ringo thought it was obvious once you saw it, though: the way he seemed to unconsciously tilt his head whenever Paul or Ringo were around, submissively, or the unnatural tone of his raised chin in public; the way he looked around in hopes of approval from his mates every time he cracked a joke; how he always seemed to wait for the slowest member instead of taking the lead; the way he always lent on Paul a little bit.

Paul not only thought it was obvious, but tremendously endearing, and he felt it his duty to keep his mate safe and happy more than anyone else in his life. Ringo knew this and stayed out of the way, although he took the time to smile at himself at how obliviously the two boys did the courting: Paul cleaning aftershave from John’s face, fixing his tie before going on stage, fixing his rebel locks before going out, always giving him some food he’d bought on his way, or feeding him bites himself without giving it much thought… Or even scenting him.

It was funny, smelling Paul in John all the time without either of them noticing what was going on; John all happy and content and Paul looking satisfied after having shared a hotel room during the night. Ringo could picture what had happened: cuddling and rubbing of Paul’s nose and skin against John’s during his sleep, neither of them taking notice. Not even after John would go out on his own and come back the next morning all moody and uncomfortable, and Paul would spend the day giving him things and touching him until his smell returned to John’s skin and John calmed down.

George laughed when he told Ringo that some days before he rejoined The Beatles for their world tour that month, Jimmy Nicol (beta) had asked why John and Paul smelled so similarly, and wondered if they were related. Evidently, he thought they were both alphas, and John and Paul made up a quick excuse before looking at each other a bit confused.

“Must be ‘cuz we share a bed” John had adventured.

It was hilarious, really, and Ringo had a pretty good time watching the lovers dance with blind eyes.

Paul had found out in Hamburg, that first rodeo in 1960. The smell had been hard to cover, although the stink of alcohol, sweat and other fluids was a constant distractor, because there was no way in hell that John could always reek of some other omega’s scent, even when he didn’t have sex for a while. And because no alpha or beta felt against Paul the way John felt when they had to share bed, and because the sweat barely covered the excited pheromones. Paul eventually found out about the suppressants and kept quiet.

That is, until Paris, when John confessed it to him and Paul had to admit that he’d known. John seemed so overly relieved when he realized Paul seemed to think no less of him for who he was, that Paul’s heart grew two sizes.

That night also was truly the first one that Paul scented John (really, it had _nothing_ to do with Stuart, thank you very much).

From there, it was a matter of time for the rest of the lads to figure it out, and although there were certain looks exchanged to see what Paul’s position on the matter was (looking for guidance, which annoyed John a bit), they were all quick to accept the situation and, what’s best, ignore it altogether. To all external looks, and in the intern as well, John was the leader.

And so it had remained.

**Part II. _The Conception._**

It was Saturday, the 27th of June of 1964, and Paul had been cranky all day long. He had been irritable, uncomfortable and itchy, and seemed to feel hot all over, with flushed cheeks and little clothes on. He ate like an animal when the hotel brought them dinner, and John had to share part of his plate so he would feel satiated. It was only after Paul fell asleep against him on the couch that John started feeling hot and uncomfortable himself, and the known feeling sent pangs of panic through him. It wasn’t time yet.

‘Oh, boy’ Ringo took a deep breath and got up from where he laid on the floor, glancing at the two boys ‘Ooh, boy. Georgie, we should head back to our room now, leave the two lads alone’ he winked, and John just felt his insides twist with true fear. George, confused, glanced from one to the other.

‘It’s not time yet’ John’s voice felt weak and trembly, but he couldn’t bring himself to care: he was panicking ‘I swear I didn’t miss…’ Ringo shook his head.

‘It’s not you, Paul’s going on rut. Any omega near an alpha on rut goes into heat’

‘What?’ Sensing the discomfort of the omega, Paul twisted in his sleep to rub his body against John’s, muttering something and frowning. Immediately, a wave of calming alpha pheromones ran over John and he couldn’t help but relax a little, almost too comfortable with Paul. He had to physically restrain himself from purring.

When he looked up again, Ringo was giving him a significant look, and George’s eyebrows were raised. They had all felt the pheromones. And Paul was certainly behaving very animalistically today. John groaned, complaining.

‘Why now? I didn’t even know that alphas went on rut anymore. I thought it was a whole lie made up to excuse rape’ Ringo raised his eyebrows, offended.

‘Of course not: most of us lock ourselves up or take suppressants. The thing is, it really depends on the alpha, but ruts are very rare and unpredictable. It usually comes up once every couple of years, but for some it takes longer. Sometimes, alphas will only go on rut whenever they don’t have enough intercourse during a determined amount of time, as their…’

Paul moaned, interrupting him. His cheeks had flushed bright red and the bulge in his pants was now very much obvious, and John tried not to see how Paul’s body twisted in an attempt to hump the sofa. Ringo grimaced and turned.

‘Alright, I’m gonna head out. Not too good for alphas to be around other alphas on rut. George?’

George jumped up in a second ‘Yep, yep, yep’ And just like that, they were gone.

Never even asked John if he wanted to share a rut with Paul. How inconsiderate.

Now, though, his body was making that decision for him.

He knew the feeling of liquid fire in his veins, the hot humid mess his hole was becoming, having already leaked a bit of slick when Paul had moaned, and the increasingly blurrier mind. The way the skin that was in contact with Paul’s body felt all hot and excited. He knew it all too well, the desire, but he didn’t know the hot body trashed next to him that had just bolted awake, hungry eyes staring down at him, the thoughtless, avid hunter that stood in Paul’s place.

Oh, he didn’t know him, but he wanted him so badly.

John moaned under Paul’s gaze and Paul growled, taking him by his hips and dragging him to lay under the alpha on the sofa. The way Paul smelt was too good, too dizzyingly good: like sex and safe, like home and _alpha_. It was enveloping, and John shuddered as Paul lowered his head to lick at his jaw just below the ear: too close and too far from the bonding spot. He wanted to feel all of Paul, and he wanted it now. He felt more slick slip between his legs when Paul growled in his ear, taking him by the hips again and dry humping him. The sensation of his erect bulge against his ass was enough to make John lose all the little conscience he had left, and he moaned loudly.

Burn, burn, burn.

Paul’s skin was burning, Paul’s breath was burning, his kisses were burning, his hands all over John were burning, his smell was burning hot, his member was burning against John’s now bared ass (when did that happen? When did they get naked?)

Burn, burn, burn.

John’s skin was burning, his blood burned his veins, his cheeks were burning, his slick was burning, his member was burning, he knew his smell was burning.

Everything was burning. Everything was on fire and John, always the masochist, couldn’t get enough of Paul’s skin against his.

And then, just when John didn’t think he could bare the emptiness any longer, Paul growled, bit softly but suddenly on John’s neck, hands all over his body, and penetrated him. John saw stars. His very slick hole granted easy access to Paul, who panted in John’s ear (his breath was hot), and John felt so full and so good he thought he might’ve reached The Almighty. This was, after all, his first time sharing a heat (or rut, for that matter).

Paul felt like he had been built to be inside of John, John found. And as Paul started moving and stretching him more and more, filling him deliciously over and over and making him feel like he was climbing a stairway to heaven, John moaned. God, the way Paul was so much _alpha_ and he was all over him, protective and assertive; he had all of it in John and John felt so dominated, so _owned_ but so _safe_ , it just felt so good. And as he moaned and Paul quickened his pace, grabbing John by the hips and steadying him (because John had been trying to move to meet Paul, but it was a bit messy) and just _pounded_ into John, changing the angle, John cried out in pleasure. Paul was hitting something, he knew, some spot that was sending him to another universe altogether, and Paul seemed to feel something too because he growled in John’s ear, panting. It was a matter of a minutes before the pounding became erratic, and John felt himself getting oh so hot, oh so close, oh so divine as Paul met him once more, as Paul stripped him of everything except this feeling, this smell: everything except _his omega_ was dead, and John had never loved his gender more than in that moment. Because no one had felt so much _alpha_ in Paul’s scent as John was feeling now, and he _adored_ it.

And so, when Paul hit his spot again and licked his ear shell, murmuring _“My omega”_ with a low possessive voice, John lost it. He gripped Paul’s hair and back as he spasmed and came with a small cry, stars behind his eyes and the most delicious piece of heaven eating his skin. Paul felt John clenching around him and growled, pounding erratically in pursuit of his own climax, and John felt Paul’s knot growing thick inside of him, filling him fully and making him feel owned and anchored. _With an alpha._ Once the knot locked inside John, it only took a couple more thrusts for Paul to come.

And oh, boy, he came.

Paul spasmed lightly on top of John and the omega felt his hole being filled to the brim, and he moaned. Then, Paul gasped and collapsed on top of John, hugging his middle and resting his face in the crook of John’s neck, breathing in. John closed his eyes to cherish the feeling of Paul’s seed inside of him and hugged his lover, enveloping him. They both fell asleep.

That is, of course, until Paul woke up burning again.

Ringo did his best to ignore the sounds coming from the next room at the hotel that night and following day.

“How long does it last?” George had asked at some point, seemingly tired of hearing the moaning start all over again. _At least he doesn’t smell half as much as I do,_ Ringo thought, resigned. “About twenty-four hours”.

They had informed Brian and the flight had been postponed a day, Sunday being, luckily, their free day. And now, all there was to do was to play scrabble with George in the hotel room, because if they dared leave the building a sea of fans would most likely swallow them alive. At least they were far up enough in the hotel that the smell coming from the room next door would be impossible to reach the fans waiting outside.

But it did reach Ritchie, and he hated it.

George had bags beneath his eyes, but his were not as deep as Ringo’s. The young beta took his time to realize how stressed the older boy seemed, but once he did he didn’t hesitate to ask. He was, after all, a curious boy.

“It’s actually really unnerving, because although the smell of an omega on heat is highly inviting, the smell of an alpha on rut is something entirely annoying for another alpha” Ringo explained “It’s like, you wanna fight for it, y’know? It makes you wanna put up a fight, because it annoys the hell out of you that they claimed the omega and not you, but at the same time it puts you off so much that you just feel like leaving, because you’re in someone else’s territory. They are putting out territorial claims in their pheromones, and you feel uncomfortable nearby. So, it’s a combination of fight and flee instincts”

“God, that must hell” George seemed surprised “And I thought the smell of sex and the sounds were annoying enough”

“Yeah” Ringo chuckled “But it’s not like we can go anywhere now. We could go down to the bar but that would be as bad an idea as they come. I wouldn’t want to be drunk around Paul on rut”

“Hmm” George sat on his bed, thoughtful “Ringo, have you had a rut since we’ve known you? I’m actually surprised that it caught Paul off guard but never you…”

Ringo shrugged “I’m a regular, so it comes every couple of years with barely a week or two of difference. Plus, I notice it coming, so I can take care of it beforehand. I suspect Paul is an irregular, or maybe he forgot (with all the tour things happening). My last rut was last year, around April: we weren’t on tour and Maureen and I could take the day for ourselves”

George hummed and nodded, still thinking.

“And all of that heat and rut stuff, can only be satisfied by alphas and omegas respectively?” Ringo eyed George, amused.

“Why, you got an omega bird somewhere?” George blushed and bubbled, and Ringo laughed wholeheartedly “Calm down, I was joking. Although biologically it’s the best match, it can be satisfied by betas as well. Just hum, well, I’m not too sure about the beta-omega combination (I guess they are needier than usual, and you’d have to gather a lot of stamina since you don’t have a knot), but I’ve been told that in the alpha-beta combination alphas can be a little… aggressive. Just a bit over the top, maybe. But if either omegas or alphas take those suppressants that only slow things down a bit, without suppressing the rut or heat entirely (you know those?), things get much more manageable”.

“Ooh” George was nodding again, looking at Ringo intensely. “This is actually really interesting. I’ve never really been with anyone who isn’t beta, so…”

Ringo smiled, and suddenly the sounds next door stopped with a high-pitched moan and then a thump, followed by some sighs. The couple had fallen asleep again. Ringo checked his watch.

“Well, that was probably the last one. They’ll wake up in a couple of hours thirsty and hungry as hell, and I can walk you through the famous ‘The Day After’ sharing a rut or heat if you want to learn more” George seemed curious.

“Oh? ‘The Day After’?”

“Yes. You’ll see it soon, but Paul will be all clingy and touching John all the time, while John will barely notice. Paul will be providing and John will be eating a lot. Actually, today we’ll find out if John got successfully pregnant, and we’ll know before they even realize. My da used to call that day “Realizing you fucked up” ‘cause about midday through it downs on you”

George’s eyes widened comically.

“What?!”

Ringo laughed.

“Well, they didn’t use protection, did they? And I honestly doubt they’ll want to use a contraceptive when they wake up, it’ll probably make them sick to think of it. But Paul’s behavior today will show us if the impregnation was successful, because his alpha will be providing in order to assure the fetus’ survival and it will know, after a while, if this failed to happen. If it didn’t, he’ll be all over John all day long without even noticing”

George raised his eyebrows.

“Without noticing?”

“Oh, they never fucking notice”

**Part III. _Realizing._**

It was very entertaining to watch.

George and Ringo entered the room the couple shared around three and a half in the afternoon and started to open all the windows so the strong smell of rut and heat would leave the room. Ringo made sure to stay away from them as he did so, avoiding the bed to which they must’ve moved at some point and staying in the kitchen corner as he phoned downstairs to order food and drinks from room service. George, however, was bolder; gathering some screwed around pieces of clothes and returning some furniture to its place when John woke up.

“Hmm… Mornin’” he blinked slowly and took a deep breath, his eyes meeting Paul’s messy hair as the alpha laid on top of him, hugging his middle and with his head resting on his chest. The smell of alpha was everywhere, and John felt very comforted by it.

“Afternoon, sleeping beauty. Tough night?” George joked as he shook a shirt to kind of fold it on the couch. John smiled lazily. “Hmm” he managed.

Paul stirred on top of John, rubbing his face against the omega’s chest. Ringo casted an amused glance at George, who immediately moved closer with question written in his eyes. Ringo rolled his eyes as he whispered.

“He smells me, Paul does. Another alpha in the room, so he’ll spend a good few minutes scenting John all over when he wakes up, as to mark him as his. It’s not even about the smell: John already reeks of Paul, it’s about the act, to show possession”

“That’s so animalistic!” George gasped, but he was smiling. He seemed throughoutly entertained, and Ringo smiled as well.

“What you two whispering about?” Came Paul’s husky voice, and the boys lifted their eyes to meet the alpha’s, who was now rubbing John’s wrists with his hands, and had to really control their mad grins.

“Nothin’. You hungry? Ringo…”

“The hotel offered to bring up some refreshments in a bit” Ringo interrupted, glaring at George, who blushed at his mistake. Another alpha providing right now was a terrible idea. Paul frowned slightly but nodded, letting his head fall back on John’s chest and rubbing it. John sighed contentedly, though.

“Yes, food! God, I’m starving”

Paul didn’t stop touching John all day long, just like Ringo had predicted, and George was mesmerized by how little mind they seemed to pay to it, how natural it seemed between the two. Granted, they’d always been too close and touchy, but never like this. Paul was like a cloak John was wearing at all times: all over him.

They dressed up and the food came, brought in and settled on the coffee table by Paul. Ringo made sure not to look, but George couldn’t look away as Paul literally fed John many of the aliments, John all wild locks and flushed cheeks but not from embarrassment: he was just very warm. He had this soft and vulnerable look in his eyes and just seemed like a little kid, taken care of by his mom Paul. Or, rather, like a little bird with his mom bird, the provider. It was, as Ringo had promised, very fun to watch, and very new to George, whose parents had been both betas, much like the majority of his girlfriends.

John ate a lot but Paul didn’t, which Ringo later explained it was because an alpha eats _before_ his rut, while an omega _after_. Had something to do with the fetus or something. And afterwards, John just balled up against Paul, resting his head on his chest and falling asleep. Paul seemed unpreoccupied, reading the paper while rubbing his lover’s back with thoughtful fingers. Ringo smiled and decided to go for it, drawing George’s attention and whispering: “watch this”.

George watched curiously as Ringo walked towards the couple and leant over them to reach the cigarette pack on coffee table, resting his hand on John’s knee for support. Immediately, Paul went very still and a growl rose from his throat, low and fully threatening. John seemed just vaguely uncomfortable before Ringo retired his hand, cigarette pack on hand. “Sorry” he whispered as he walked toward George, who was waiting in the kitchen corner. Paul mumbled something that resembled “’s ok”, though not completely meaning it, before placing his hand where Ringo’s had been and rubbing. The beta looked astonished.

“He _growled_ at you. He literally _growled_ at you. Oh my God. _Paul,_ the most peaceful guy, _growled_ at you” Ringo chuckled.

“Yes, I’m an alpha and I touched his omega while he slept. I’m lucky to have my hand still” he rubbed it absent-mindedly, trying to forget how good John had smelt. Albeit not sure, he had a feeling of what the answer that Paul’s alpha seeked was.

“We’ll find out when John wakes up, I guess”

George turned to him; eyes glowing.

John woke up with his energy back on track. It was around seven P.M. and the boys had to fly to New Zealand that night to play at the Town Hall in Wellington the following evening, so Ringo and George moved back to their room to pack their things. However not on view, Ringo knew Paul would be helping John pack, and resisting the urge to pack too many unneeded blankets or food with him.

When they walked back into the room, though, around a quarter to eight, Ringo saw Paul hugging John from behind and resting his hands on top of John’s flat tummy, stroking lovingly, and the drummer elbowed George quite harshly. As the young boy looked up, Ringo whispered: “That’s it. He’s pregnant”.

John came out of the post rut/heat daze around eight thirty that night, sat on the plane next to Paul and on front of George and Ringo. He had been awake and energized for about an hour and a half, but it had been a fever-like energy that didn’t seem to reach his brain. Now though, sitting in the plane with a book he hadn’t been reading in his hands, he had the time to fully process what had happened.

He’d had sex with Paul. Better still, he’d shared a rut with Paul.

John knew they had bonded over the event, because he couldn’t (nor did he want to) shake Paul’s smell off him, and because the alpha spent all day too close to him, and it felt _nice_. But despite having bonded over it, they hadn’t _bonded_ bonded, obviously, and John stood wondering what the nature of their relationship had come to be, now. Were they just close friends? Friends with benefits? Boyfriends?

He hoped beyond everything that they were more than friends, because otherwise he didn’t know how he’d be able to handle the warmness and safety he felt near Paul, nothing like what friends feel for each other. Also, he’d jump like a bitch if someone tried to steal Paul from him. Well, he guessed that if they weren’t together, it wasn’t _stealing_ , but God would step over him before jealousy didn’t drive him to murder.

He also had to ponder the fact that he wasn’t the most wanted option for a partner: a male omega. People usually cringed away from such a predicament unless they were a female alpha, and despite the fact that John had felt attracted like hell to Paul since day one, he’d hid it away for a reason: Paul just _loved_ birds. He couldn’t bear a rejection, risking the entire relationship for one stupid possibility in a million.

He had to admit, though, that having shared a rut changed things a little bit, since Paul seemed eager to act as John’s alpha, and a little bit of hope bloomed inside the omega’s heart.

He was gathering the courage to speak when a thought crossed his mind, sending him to a state of panic. He turned to Paul with wide eyes, who’d been looking out the window at the sunset, and whispered hurriedly:

“We didn’t use protection” Paul seemed confused for a minute while looking at John, as if trying to understand what the omega was referring to. And then it downed on him, and he smiled. And then he frowned. And then he paled.

“Oh my god. You’re pregnant”

“What?!” Paul hushed him and John looked whispered “What? You don’t know that yet. There’s no way you could possibly know that” Paul winced.

“Oh boy, I know. Don’t ask me how, but I know. I felt it, earlier, in your tummy, but didn’t really give it much thought. I don’t know why; I haven’t been thinking straight…” And then he paled again _“Oh my God, I growled at Ritchie”_.

“What?” Now John just seemed overly amused “Why?”

Paul covered his face with his hands, burning with embarrassment “Because he touched you”.

John’s roar of laughter woke up Ringo and George on the row behind them.

“Why didn’t you do something?!” John was furious, but Ringo just shrugged.

“There was not much to do. Condoms would’ve been useless (Paul wouldn’t have worn it); the only way you could’ve prevented pregnancy was by regular use of birth control pills, but there’s no pill for “the two minutes before rut”. There’re only pills for the day after, but omegas usually reject those: it makes them sick. It would have rarely worked and most likely traumatized you as you spit up your baby”

Both John and Paul winced at that, and John seemed to deflate.

“But there must be something…”

“Abortion” The word hung heavy as a stone in the silence that followed.

Paul cleared his throat. “Yeah, how about we don’t do that? It’s too risky, and not worth it at all”

They all knew it wasn’t that risky anymore, since it was the only way to truly help omegas that had been raped not to end up with four kids overnight, but no one said anything. It was, after all, a deeply traumatizing experience.

“Then, we’re having the pups” John said, mesmerized by the idea “Children. We’re having children. Paul, we’re going on tour in about, bit less than two months, and it’ll keep going _for a while_. We’re doing a movie in a few months. I’m twenty-three, you’re twenty-two. _Children._ Yesterday it was literally the first time we had sex, the first time we thought of each other as a partner. _Children_ ”

Paul didn’t answer. He looked alarmed too but was trying to find an answer to soothe them both.

Ringo cleared his throat.

“I mean, you two have been courting for ages”

Two heads snapped up.

“What?” This time it was Paul who spoke. Ringo offered him a kind smile.

“You, Paul, have been spending a lot on food, cigarettes and other stuff that aren’t for you, haven’t you? A lot of milk, too, for some reason [ _A/N:_ _omegas like milk_ ]. Giving it to John, fixing his hair, his tie, feeding him from your portions” Paul was getting redder by the minute, his obliviousness finally dissolving “You have been scenting him every night too. I assume many people think John is an alpha because he reeks of one: you”

George snorted, and two angry tomato faces turned to him.

“Shut up” John mumbled angrily, pointing a finger at him. George lifted his hands in surrender.

“I didn’t notice” Paul murmured, somewhat shocked.

“Yeah, well, what I’m getting at is that you two have already kind of claimed each other as yours, so it’s not an entirely new situation, this. Or rather, your alpha and omega respectively claimed each other without you two noticing”

“Plus, you look really cute together” George peppered in “Jim and Mimi are going to be _delighted_ ”

**Part IV. _The Pregnancy._**

0-3.

_First Trimester._

The tour ended on the 30th of June of 1964, two days after Paul’s rut, and they all headed home. On the morning of the last day, John had been sick, confirming everyone’s suspicions of pregnancy. Paul seemed reticent of letting John go when the moment of parting ways arrived, but John wasn’t so much. He’d been moody ever since they found out about the pregnancy, trying to fit a batch of children in the superstar life that he’d dreamed with and had finally reached, without much success.

That’s how the first week was spent: moody John locked in his house with Cynthia (an omega he was very good friends with and who’d accepted to act as a mask for John’s secondary gender until she decided to get married) and sometimes out in the strawberry fields, trying to find a way out of the situation, and Paul trying to visit him as much as possible, being turned down more often than not by a sorry Cynthia. On Saturday, though, Paul found John in the strawberry fields, sitting down beneath the tree they used to sit at and looking at the distance, seemingly lost in thought. Paul sat down next to him without a word, and they stared silently at the field for a while.

“How you doin’ with that bird, Jane? You’d been going out for a while now, right?” John asked out of the blue. Paul frowned. He’d met Jane in April of that year, and the relationship had been going well until recently.

“I broke up with her, obviously”

John’s head snapped up, frowning with confusion drawn all over his face.

“What?”

Paul rolled his eyes.

“John, don’t be stupid. I’m with you now, I thought…” Paul’s face fell a little “Well, of course, unless you don’t want to, which-”

“Don’t be stupid” John kept on frowning “But are you staying with me because of me or because of the pups? Because you should know, if it’s them you’re worried about I’ll give you full cust-”

“It’s you”

They both blushed and looked away, settling their gaze on some bush that stood across from them. John cleared his throat.

“I thought… Well, you’ve never said anything before”

It was Paul’s turn to frown.

“And you did? John, I thought you didn’t want to be with me. You seemed so uninterested, so in your own thing, I just thought you didn’t like me in that way”

“I was… Scared, I don’t know. That you wouldn’t want to. ‘s weird, a male omega, not everyone’s first choice. ‘n you love birds” Paul scrunched his nose.

“Don’t be ridiculous. Don’t love them half as much as I love you”

The sentence hung in the air, heavy with meaning, for some solid minutes as Paul tried not to blush or look away from John’s piercing gaze.

“Then bond with me. And we’ll have these children”

Paul smiled, relieved.

From then on, the pregnancy moved along nicely. John wouldn’t have a heat until his pregnancy was over, obviously, and neither would Paul have a rut in two or more years (he _was_ irregular after all), so they had to wait until it was over to bond. However, John made sure Paul pinky promised it.

The first almost two months went by with calmness, as they were on a break, and Paul spent a lot of time with John, who spent a lot of time with his aunt Nanny (an omega who’d had a bunch of children [ _A/N:_ _Not true in real life but literally none of their aunts had more than one child as far as I could find_ ]) to teach him what to expect and how to approach pregnancy: what to eat, what not to do (drink, smoke), what to do if he felt this or that, etcetera. John seemed very annoyed by many of these requests, since he’d pretty much have to live like a nun for the following nine months, but he tried not to protest too much. And even if he wasn’t, Paul was taking notes for both of them and paying more attention than he ever did in class, so John didn’t have to worry too much. He knew Paul was enough of a control freak to have them both covered.

Brian got them a private and discreet doctor who confirmed John’s diagnosis, checked him to see that everything was moving along nicely, and gave him a list of foods to eat during his pregnancy and a bunch of activities -exercises and such- that would help him with aches and prepare him for the birth. As he checked the recipes, Paul was shocked to learn that John knew how to prepare most, and that he was quite good at it. John was very embarrassed to confess that his aunt Mimi had taught him how to do household work when he had presented as an omega. He knew how to do laundry, the cleaning and a killer lasagna. 

John started feeling the first real signs of pregnancy those first months. He had morning sickness for almost the entirety of the first week and a half, although their doctor told them it was probably the nerves and stress of the new situation. After John fully accepted it and made up with Paul, nausea became bearable and he mainly got fussed over how often he had to pee and how easily tired he became.

“I’m turning into a grandma” he’d grunted once, to Paul’s laughter “No, John: you’re turning into a pregnant person”.

The nausea came back with a vengeance on the second month, though, to John’s distress, joined by food sensibility (he often felt nauseous at the mere smell of food that he used to love, and couldn’t bring himself to eat properly) and moodiness. If John’s natural personality wasn’t edgy enough, the nausea, tiredness and constant need to pee were soon joined by the need to stop smoking and drinking on the quest to further sour John’s mood, even after Paul’s offer to join him in abstinence.

“You don’t know what it’s like, you big fucking monkey! Don’t pretend to “join in” like this is a fucking club! You _can’t_ join in, living your great majestic impregnator life while I carry your heavy fucking attached semen!”

All in all, those two months helped little to build their new romantic relationship, since they were busy with Nanny’s classes, the doctor’s appointments and songwriting, and pretty much behaving similarly to what they did before. The main difference was Paul, who’d started to act like a mom around John, overprotective and patient like a monk (John’s moodiness wasn’t really that big of a change). Cynthia had the uncomfortable feeling that a relationship started like this might not lead a healthy life in the future, and tried to inadvertently incite them to candlelit dinners and such, but she had to give up after a while: even past John’s constant nausea, the boys just found it an uncomfortable situation; not used to think of each other like that at all. Well, they were, yes, but only in their fantasies: bringing it to reality had a certain plastic feeling to it.

This situation was quickly overcame with the start of the first American tour in August, though.

America was the most exciting prospect the boys had had yet: they were literally travelling to the land of talent, the land of Chuck Berry, Little Richard, The Everly Brothers… Even John was buzzing with excitement as the plane descended and they stepped into a sea of fans welcoming them. It was very flattering, incredibly exciting, and all of their previous worries slipped their minds as they looked out the hotel room window into that magical place they’d arrived to. And it was magical, it was great, until the party.

On tour, the constant activity they were subjected to had the omega sleeping most of his free time, and he’d fallen asleep a couple of times while peeing in the bathroom (he’d taken to sit down after he’d peed because he usually got dizzy afterwards). He’d get dizzy and tired all the time now, and thus he didn’t attend many afterparties or extra activities, preferring to nap next to his loyal and overprotective alpha. It annoyed him, how much of a boring person he was becoming, and his moods became less predictable and harder to handle. It was, however, a duty Paul took with grace, caring for his lover as a very patient and understanding alpha Ringo hadn’t expected to ever meet, albeit highly protective and somewhat possessive. He was, though, a bit excused for it since John _was_ highly wanted, but Ringo knew a lot of it came with Paul’s personality.

They’d arrived on the 19th of August, and it was on the 3rd of September that they had a party thrown for them after performing in Indianapolis. John had been very excited about it, because he felt energized for the first time in ages, and he indulged a little on the drinks section despite the doctor’s advice. It was just a little, he thought to himself, and Paul hadn’t been worried until he lost sight of him. At first it wasn’t alarming (they were all grownups after all) but when he smelt the distress, he grew frantic.

John was still on his second month of pregnancy, and they had no trouble hiding his growing belly. It was very small still, easily disguisable, and John was not yet worried about it.

But the trouble was, he was starting to smell really good.

Pregnant omegas usually smell amazing, since they are being the most attractive they can be: they’re carrying life, serving evolution’s purpose at its finest. And so, even though alphas don’t feel nearly as attracted as they do during heats, since the pups aren’t theirs, they do feel a strong attraction and a desire to _steal_ and _own_ the omega, who’s proving themselves fertile and healthy, and steal the puppies as well to serve as their own. In this situation, John was a drunk beauty on the dancefloor that night, and many alphas had spent their time trying to approach him. The minute he drew away from Paul, the smell strengthened too, and he saw himself in an uncomfortable situation as a very drunk alpha started dancing with him from behind, grabbing his waist and burying his nose in the base of John’s neck. Suddenly sober, he tried joking and getting rid of him politely, but when the dude started slipping his hand towards his lower belly (and lower) John started to panic. A couple more alphas were rounding him from other angles as well and, while he snatched the dude’s hand away from his skin, John thought that even if he got rid of one he couldn’t get rid of all of them without causing a scene, ruining the party and, more importantly, revealing to anyone watching that he was an omega. Who else gets this kind of unwanted attention from a hoard of horny alphas? It was that what really worried him, since the alphas themselves he could take in a fight without too much trouble, but risking exposure was something else entirely.

As he started to panic, he unconsciously looked for Paul, seeking help, and was overly relieved when the black-haired beauty made his appearance with a drink in his hand, a murderous look and a polite but tight smile. The alphas immediately flinched a little, recognizing Paul’s scent in John and identifying him as the father. John, a little annoyed at the idiot behind him who wouldn’t let him go, elbowed him on the ribs as Paul took him by the hand.

“Gentlemen” Paul inclined very slightly his head in recognition, not letting go of his threatening gaze, before dragging John out of there. He took him to the bathroom, eyes still furious, locked it and made John undress fully before spending a good half an hour scenting him all over, possessiveness spilling from him in waves.

And despite the sexism of it all, John liked it. He felt safe, safer than he’d ever felt, and he realized that all of those stupid little problems he’d always had for being an omega were solved now with Paul by his side. That Paul cared. And it made him feel safe, good, wanted, protected. He started giggling under Paul’s rubbing nose out of pure glee.

It might have been the alcohol too.

(He was allowed a little. Just a little, until the third month, Nanny had said)

That night, they had sex for the first time since Paul’s rut.

John hadn’t felt very much up for it in the previous weeks, with all the nausea, tiredness and moodiness going on, but that night something changed inside of him and he longed for his lover’s arms as if they were more important to him than oxygen.

Paul was very sweet, careful lover (very different from the beast he became when on rut) and John gave himself whole to him, no second thoughts and no holding back. They knew each other inch by inch, sound by sound, and suddenly shame and discomfort were no longer there; no longer accusing them of doing something weird or wrong after so many years of nothing further than friendship. That night, the drunk, slow and sweet love they made was the first fundament, the first solid ground in which they built their romantic relationship.

It was the final link that unified their souls.

Since then, they were truly a couple.

Or so they thought.

They returned to England on the 21st and were rewarded with three free weeks before tour started again on the 9th of October, lasting until the 10th of November. They toured in Britain, and hiding John’s bump started to get a little harder.

As the tour came to happen, John entered his third month and things started to become just a little better. The nausea decreased and his food sensibility subdued a little, suddenly challenged by the food cravings that Paul struggled to fulfill (once, he’d had to drive across Brighton at two-thirty A.M. in search of a specific kind of carrots John craved –which he found after two hours thanks to an overly nice old greengrocer who understood pregnancy– only to then be turned down by an upset John who felt abandoned after Paul spent so long outside. Paul somehow managed to calm him down and reawaken his appetite for the carrots after an hour of convincing, and he was ashamed to admit to himself that he’d mostly done it out of spite).

John’s moodiness also continued, but when Paul laid at night with his hands on top of John’s bump and felt the pups’ heartbeat under his fingers, Paul overcompensated any frustration he might have felt during the day, feeling about as happy as a man can be.

The British tour came and went and suddenly the boys had a bit less than four months to themselves before the filming of their first movie, “A Hard Day’s Night”, started. Of course, they still had a record to make, but Brian had told them they could take it slowly this time, in consideration to John (he’d also try to change the dates for the movie so John could deliver in peace).

They took three whole months to rest (and compose, although John and Paul didn’t really consider that work: it soothed John and made the babies move a bit with Paul’s voice, which had them both excited), and the second trimester arrived peacefully.

Sort of.

3-6

_Second Trimester._

The second trimester was Paul’s favorite. John was hungry most of the time, and while some days he ate anything on his way, other days he had very specific cravings that sent Paul on more quests to please him. He was hot all the time and complained about everything, amongst which stood out having to pee all the time (still), feeling nauseous, hurting gums and legs, most importantly, his clothes no longer fitting his expanding belly.

He’d started to really gain weight and his bump was now obvious, depressing John’s already quite low self-esteem. Paul still remembered the day he walked in on John out of his usual robe and desperately trying to make his jeans go past his hips, his shirt half buttoned (it wouldn’t close around John’s abdomen) and feet halfway in shoes, his ankles too swollen to allow more. He was crying silently, tugging at his pants until he saw Paul and stopped, arms limp at his sides and wet puppy eyes looking up in shame. Paul had felt his heart break and had hurried to his mate’s side, hugging and comforting him as John cried.

“Oh, Johnny, it’s alright. It’s ok. You’re fine, and you’re gorgeous, my beautiful little thing, my precious boy...”

“I’m fat” John hiccupped, spitting the word out like it burnt.

“No, you’re pregnant, honey. That’s not fat; it’s our children, and you’re feeding them at the same time you’re feeding yourself. You’re doing a great job, honey”

“I don’t have children in my hips” another hiccup.

“No, but you need your hips and legs to be a little wider so you can carry the children in your tummy, honey. You’re perfect just the way you are, and you’re doing amazing”

John sobbed a little more, and then Paul made it a personal mission to find as many beautiful maternal clothes as he could, and started replacing John’s wardrobe inadvertently (hiding the other clothes for after the pregnancy).

John’s belly had grown enough that he had to spend a good amount of time locked inside or in the garden, out of the world’s view. He was snuggling and cuddling Paul and Cynthia a lot and, although he was often tired, it wasn’t as bad as it had been the first trimester, which led to Paul’s favorite part: the sex. John was very horny very often, seeking his alpha every night like a hyena, and Paul didn’t complain in the slightest. John took control many of the times, riding and bossing him around, but for the first time Paul didn’t feel the loss of control as a threat. He loved John so much, and John was in himself such a free creature, bold and often dangerous, that seeing that unrestrained side of him did nothing but swell Paul’s heart even more.

Besides, John did smell amazing. And the way that he laid on the bed when Paul entered the room at night, naked and inviting (or with that light lingerie he’d gotten from Cynthia on, which drove Paul crazy); the way he wrapped his legs around Paul the minute he laid on top of him, touching everywhere and messing with Paul until the alpha growled in frustration, mouth deep in John’s and hands all over his mate’s hair, ass, legs and belly; the way John spun them around till he was sitting on Paul, wet entrance pressing slightly against Paul’s member... And the insolent look on his face as he lowered himself into Paul, eyes closing and mouth dropping open. Paul loved the attitude, loved the smell, loved the belly full of his pups -marking John as his-, loved John. And John loved the thrill, love the power, loved Paul’s eager response (it helped raise his confidence), loved Paul.

It was easy.

Apart from the amazing sex drive, John was getting very emotionally unstable, and he couldn’t stand smelling anyone’s smell on Paul that wasn’t his. His jealousy and possessiveness spiked, fear of being abandoned by his alpha making him easily upset and defensive, and Paul had had to sit through hell and fire several times after he’d hugged Cynthia a bit too tightly or received a kiss from his auntie.

“You smell like shit” John would snarl from the sofa, not looking up from his book. Paul would lift an eyebrow then, confused.

“Huh? Why so? I brought you cake, by the way; my auntie stopped by...”

“I don’t want it. Your stink kills the appetite”

Paul would then pause for a second before figuring out what was going on, then he’d walk towards the kitchen to store the cake and walk back to the sofa, from which John was pretending that he wasn’t following him with his eyes the entire time, afraid that Paul would just get tired of him and leave smelling like another omega. Then, after dropping next to John, he would lift an arm and the lad would scrunch his nose, pause a couple of seconds out of pride, and put his book down to scent Paul all over. Once he was finished, he’d lay next to his lover, purring and muttering threats if he ever dared to pick up any other person’s smell again.

On the other hand, Mimi had been visiting them a lot, bringing supplies and spending time with his nephew in an attempt to help Cyn and Paul out a bit, and even Jim dropped by every now and then to bring some cake he’d picked up at the bakery or newly bought kitchen knife set (which was not necessary at all but the boys thanked him anyway). George and Ringo were often spending afternoons in the house too, watching TV with John and trying to cheer him up when his moods darkened.

As the sixth month came to be, John had gained twenty more pounds and his belly was protruding proudly under a couple of swollen and very sensitive breasts. To be fair, a male omega’s breasts were nothing extraordinary (barely there, mainly swollen nipples), but Paul was obsessed with them and John had developed some sort of pride over them because of that. “Save some milk for the babies” he would joke some nights, and Paul would laugh and answer “I’m sure I’m not the one swallowing the milk here”

He hated the mild back and hip pain, dizziness and headaches, occasional forgetfulness, fucking heat, frustratingly easy fatigue, too much pee yet constipation, but loved the attention: how much more prone to cuddles Paul seemed, how eager to please, how patient to John’s lash outs, how he spent entire evenings with his nose buried in the crook of John’s neck, breathing in, how he gave up sex some nights to spend hours massaging John’s swollen feet, how he placed his hands over John’s belly in a protective manner all the time without realizing, how he hugged him from behind in the kitchen, enveloping him with his scent all the time… He loved Paul during John’s pregnancy. He loved his alpha.

And he loved his babies. However many they were (Paul had assured him that they were three, but John didn’t know how far an alpha’s instinct went), and whatever gender they were, he loved them all. Not all the time, of course: more often than not they were a burden to live with, and John wished they were out already. But every time he felt a kick, or every time he felt them move after he’d just had something delicious to eat or had a laugh, he felt proud. He felt good, full of love and hope. He loved the way they seemed to rejoice and move when Paul sang to them, the way everything seemed right when they all fell asleep together.

Christmas and New Year's had John and Paul bathed in pregnancy presents from all of his family members, particularly the far family, and some acquaintances. They celebrated it together in Paul’s house (which was bigger) and were joined by John’s mother’s family besides Paul’s usual expanded one. Everyone asked them who the godparents were going to be, which sent Paul and John into a state of mild panic (they’d forgotten to choose them), but the aunties laughed it off and seemed extra nice afterwards, as if trying to earn their right to the babies’ godfathering title. They received knitted baby clothes, inherited blankets (that belonged to Paul’s great grandma or something), baby toys, modern comfy slippers for his swollen feet brought by one of John’s rich aunts, and a couple of borrowed books on “what to expect” from one of Paul’s aunts. Jim, surely wisely advised by the females and omegas in his family, got them a Baby Book: a photo journal to register memorable baby moments as they grew up (baby’s first vacation, first tooth, first bike, etc.). It was nice, really, to be pampered like that by everyone, and to see all of those excited faces as they touched his belly to feel the pups.

And in the night, as they slid naked in bed, Paul ran warm and loving hands all over John’s body, without any other purpose than to touch, to feel, to love. And as they settled on top of John’s tummy, like every other night, John felt special. He felt loved, and knew that for Paul, _he_ was the one carrying the best presents no Christmas could give.

6-9

_Third Trimester._

Mid-February was when they started to record the songs John and Paul had composed those resting months, to form what would be the new album, to be finished by June and released in August of that year. Brian communicated them that he’d managed to change the dates of the start of the movie, from the second of March to the second of April, and that they would do all of the scenes that didn’t include John first so John could be in relative peace until around the tenth. He had alleged that John had been sick during the previous months and he wanted to make sure he was in his best shape for the movie and previous to the European tour on June, and the boys thanked him profusely.

As the third and last trimester rolled by, the boys started discussing the naming more seriously, and it was on the 29th of January of 1965 that they sat down on the sofa until the list was finally done.

Paul insisted that John was pregnant with three pups, and so they decided to write three male and three female names in order of preference. It read:

 _“Julia, Mary, Heather”_ and _“James, George, Sean”_.

“We’re naming everyone after dead people” John observed after re-reading the list again.

“Not Heather” Paul pointed out “Or Sean. And my dad is still very much alive, thank you”.

They had just about decided to name Ringo the godfather when the man himself came around to tell them he would be getting married to Maureen on the 11th of February, and that he’d named Brian Epstein as the best man (“I couldn’t choose between all of you, guys!”) he’d excused himself. After congratulating him and shaking off their surprise a bit, John started saying “Well, _we_ could”. Ringo seemed very surprised with the news, albeit happy “And who’s the godmother, then?”

Cynthia, of course. She had been almost begging for it.

They went shopping at the beginning of February (John properly covered and hidden, as well as Paul’s face) and got bibs, diapers, milk bottles, pacifiers, some toys and teddy bears John couldn’t resist buying even though they already had some, rattles, changing mats, a three-slots-chair for the babies to sit at the table, a basin to bath the babies in, a number of blankets and towels and, finally, a set that a nice lady sold them with soap, ointments and powder for babies, along with a nice basket to put them in (the ointments, not the babies). John made sure to buy a number of big bags to carry around with the basic necessities, and a number of tight socks for himself (his feet were killing him these days). Lastly, they bought Ringo and Maureen a very nice and expensive set of imported carpets to decorate their house with, and John had the brilliant idea of packing it in giant boxes that said “booze” in them, just to get back at Ringo for the best man thing.

They paid for it all and filled the car to the brim before heading home, in which John spent a good three hours arranging everything in its place as Paul stared helplessly.

Ringo got married on the 11th of February of 1965, as planned, and the boys had a well-deserved rest from the well-taken-care-of pregnancy. They arrived at the place looking nice for the first time in a while, John’s face lit up and ignoring completely the painless contractions he kept feeling those days (the doctor said they were normal). They danced and they laughed and neither of them drank but they still had a blast, laughing their asses off when Ringo's mother asked his son about the “booze” boxes as Ringo sweated profusely.

It was great.

Around a month and a half from the birth, people started to show up with more presents.

Cynthia and Mimi knitted them a number of blankets and baby clothes, as well as some extra hand-made diapers. Cyn made them a huge blanket with a delicate and intricated design on it representing a scene of nature, and it was big enough that it could be used as virtually anything. Cover at night, cover outside, lie on it while playing on the ground, cover the baby on the trolley… It was gorgeous and very cute, and John spent an hour in the kitchen trying not to cry and baking her cookies to distract himself.

Jim bought them a baby stroller, again after a request, relieved to finally know he was buying the right thing. Truth is, all throughout John’s second trimester he’d been peppering the house with gifts in quick visits, depositing flowery laundry baskets or children’s sandals that the babies wouldn’t be able to wear until about two years old. The boys found it hilarious, because it was obvious that Jim felt the very alpha need to provide but didn’t know what and felt too awkward to ask: too cute to not be highly appreciated by them, though.

And Ringo bought them a crib. A beautiful, very big wooden crib.

It was so thoughtful, so nice, so attentive, that John couldn’t help it when he started crying at the sight of it, his emotions all bundled up: a beautiful, very big crib that could fit four babies and was properly guarded and safe, built in good wood and with carved designs of moons and stars on the outside, while a very nice soft bedding with the same design covered the inside. Maureen had knitted and decorated blankets and cushions to put in it, and so it was ready to go. Evidently, Ringo had taken the job of the godfather seriously. John had to sit down for a full eight minutes before he could control his emotions and hug them properly.

The rest of the boys gave them sweet nothings that meant more as a thought than anything, since the boys didn’t really need anything else. George did give them an amulet that his family had carried for generations and was supposed to bring good luck in the delivery, and John wore it as a necklace for the following month.

By the time the eighth month arrived, John was sick of the babies. He had continued to gain weight and was rapidly approaching the 50 pounds weight gain, he was tired, his back hurt, his feet and legs hurt, his _inner organs_ hurt because the babies wouldn’t stop moving and pressing against them, he was burning hot all the time, feeling contractions that were becoming stronger and more annoying, and he was _sick of it._

“You’re almost there, Johnny” Paul would say, massaging his tummy “They’re almost out”

Oh, how right he was.

John didn’t get to the ninth month.

**Part V. _The Birth._**

He broke water the afternoon of the 19th of March, after getting up from the sofa to go to the bathroom. At first, he panicked a little when he thought he’d just peed himself, but no: the liquid came from another hole entirely.

“Paul”

“Hmm?” Paul lifted his tired gaze from the TV to look at John. John looked at him intensely. “What’s the matter, honey?” Paul blinked, confused.

John gestured down, and Paul saw the stained pregnancy pants.

“Oh, did you not get to the bathroom? It’s ok, sweetie, we’ll…” As he began getting up, John growled.

“I didn’t pee myself, you bastard: I broke water”

Paul froze, eyes suddenly wide.

“What? But that… There’s still like, a whole month left…”

“I don’t know, but I’m starting to feel contractions, so you better get in the car, McCartney”

John started having contractions in the car, while Paul tried to drive as fast and carefully as he could at the same time. John let out a scream.

“God, hurry up, you puffer! D’ya want me to deliver in your fucking car seat?!”

“I don’t want us to crash; we’re getting there”

He got another scream as an answer.

John was rushed inside and wheeled in a bed to a private section as Paul bit his nails and tried to keep up with the nurses. The doctor arrived immediately, trying to get John to breathe right between screams, and taking off John’s pants and shirt to cover him with a hospital gown before opening up his legs and assessing the situation.

“This is not going to take long” he said, soothingly.

It took long.

Paul held John’s hand throughout all of it, as supportive as he could be (however useless he felt) and tried to release as many calming pheromones as he could in an attempt to comfort John. John didn’t seem to notice, nose-deep into his very vivid taste of the worst pain a human can go through.

The first two babies came along nicely, quick and healthy: the boy first and then one of the girls. But the third one, another girl, seemed stuck, and despite all of the doctor’s efforts John was screaming in bed between contractions for almost twenty-four hours before the baby was born.

Dead.

.

.

She’d been strangled by the umbilical cord on her way out, the doctor explained. Really, there was nothing they could’ve done, the doctor said.

.

John didn’t believe him.

.

The crying was intense. Very intense.

.

John felt like a piece of his soul had been ripped apart and torn to pieces, and nothing would ever bring him together again.

.

Paul cried too.

.

“I killed her. I killed her”

.

His baby was dead.

.

Julia was dead all over again, and it was John’s fault.

.

No, it wasn’t.

.

John woke up hours later, feeling depressed. Paul was sleeping on the chair beside him. A nurse approached them. She was carrying the two living babies, and she offered them to John. John took them and felt the shadow that hung over his head lift as he looked at the small sleeping faces. He had two babies. Two. And they were beautiful.

.

The nurse was caring and understanding. She had lost her own baby too, not a year ago, and knew how to hold a mourning parent. She helped them focus on the living babies.

.

They would name the boy Julian, after both John’s mother and the dead child.

.

They would bury Julia next to John’s mother.

.

They were beautiful. And even after all the crying and pain upon having lost a pup, both parents couldn’t help but feel their hearts lift every time they looked at their little babies’ faces, scrunched up little things.

A lot of people visited them after that. Brought flowers and balloons, congratulated them, and gave their condolences. Despite the little hollow space in their hearts, the little drag of their smiles, the boys were obsessed with their little kids, and it showed.

.

John dreamt with his dead baby that night and woke up crying desperately.

.

The nurse was there. Paul wasn’t. He was standing on the rooftop of the hospital, smoking and staring into nothingness, feeling empty.

.

They would name the girl Heather, as a tribute to that nurse’s still-born baby. The nurse cried.

.

By the 25th of March of 1965, when John and Paul finally returned home, they had a family.

John was the first to notice that Cynthia had hid a third of the babies’ things.


	2. Of The Decline

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, hello! Look at this, four months later. It's very exciting and fresh!  
> Sorry (ಥ﹏ಥ)  
> IMPORTANT NOTE!:  
> If you'd read the first chapter before I posted this, you should probably know I changed the ending (I'm so sorry I needed it for the plot). Heather is no longer adopted: John had two pups, Heather and Julian (forget about Mary for now hehe). You can read the update if you want, it's only the last bit.
> 
> Also T/W for depression, PPD, suicidal thoughts I guess, anxiety?? Maybe.
> 
> Aaaaaand added tag Lesbian Couple bc our girl Cynthia deserves some love <3

_“I never did apologize, you know?” Ringo started, trying with all his might not to blush in shame “It kind of was all my fault, what happened then”_

_John looked up from where he was picking up the toys the boys had left earlier, before they’d gone to sleep. Sean was a fan of pirate role-play games and that meant that by the end of the day the living room looked like someone had broken in during the night and forgot to bring a lantern._

_“Huh? Apologize for what?”_

_“You and Paul, I mean. I could’ve stopped you two that time around, when Paul went on rut. Could’ve avoided it, but just thought you’d finally figure it out and… I knew nothing, is what I’m saying. If I’d bothered learning about… you know, after Julian and Heather’s birth-”_

_“Ritchie” John interrupted, smiling “You think it was your fault? Man, we would’ve ended up in a similar situation sooner or later”_

_“Yeah, but maybe without kids you could’ve-”_

_“Kids would’ve come up eventually, and I would’ve agreed, and we would’ve gone through the same thing. Julia’s death was terrible, and no one could’ve predicted it. I know I couldn’t have, and neither could you. That was the main cause, don’t you know”_

_“Actually, I’ve been reading lately… A couple of interesting books came out, you see. And there’s a lot of things related to… still-borns, y’know, and its consequences, but also about non-mated couples. Effects on the omega, y’know, that could’ve been prevented if I’d only-”_

_“You couldn’t have known, Ritchie. I couldn’t’ve, either, or Paul, and to tell you the truth, it’s news to me now. How’s the book called?”_

_“‘The Gifts of Evolution in Our Day to Day Life’, by Lennis Gray, I’ll let you borrow it. But that’s-”_

_“Is it new?”_

_“Came out three years ago, in ‘75. John, I only wanted to apologize, alright? I kept reading and feeling terrible about then and wanted to get it out. Apologize to you and Paul, whenever he-”_

_“I reject your apology on the grounds that it doesn’t have a reason to exist-”_

_“Oh for God’s sake, John, just let me feel better about myself!”_

_“I’ll bake you a cake, ain’t it a treat” Ringo rolled his eyes exaggeratedly._

…

**Part I. _Memories from 1965._**

Obviously, neither Julian nor Heather could remember the year that followed their birth. But if they had, Cynthia often thought, they would’ve had a first-row seat to one of the most influential relationships in the history of music as it imploded and, in the process, changed the music world.

They weren’t immune, of course, to the events that they experienced during those years, but they surely couldn’t explicitly name any of them. Cynthia regretted deeply what they went through, as she knew babies are such sensitive creatures and a change of heart in their parental figures could be the explanation of Julian’s quietness and keeping to himself or Heather’s drive to care for others instead of herself. But none of it could be helped now.

Either way, she knew what she knew only now, and because of Ringo’s curiosity spike in the late seventies. And at least, she thought, they still had some happy memories too.

****

  1. _April 1 st._



John looked at them, trying to feel maternal. He tried very hard, looking at his babies with intensity as they cried their guts out.

It was three a.m. Paul and he had barely gotten any sleep since returning from the hospital, and that night was not an exception. As he looked down into the crib where the siblings wailed, their faces contorted and their hands in fists, John tried to feel any sort of maternal love that would drive him into picking up his babies.

He didn’t want to do that. He would admit it to no one, but what he wanted to do was to pick up a pillow and quiet them forever, no more high-pitched screaming destroying his nerves at three a.m. He didn’t want to hold them, rock them, help them. He didn’t want to scent them.

But he knew he was supposed to. Hell, he had to, he was their mother. He’d brought them to this world, and they deserved someone who loved them, who cared. Like Paul deserved a partner who didn’t want to kill their babies. And that’s why John tried really hard that night to feel something towards those screaming creatures that had come out of him, deformed him and changed his life forever. They only demanded, asking more and more and more, and giving nothing but emotional distress. But he found that the more he waited, and the harder they cried, choking on their tears and snot, the less he wanted to hold them. He didn’t feel like those creatures were his.

He didn’t hear the steps approaching, but he noticed Paul had arrived when the babies were picked up from the crib and held by his lover’s arms in careful motions. Paul shushed and rocked them, planting kisses on their foreheads as they slowly calmed before looking up at John, who’d stood petrified in front of the crib for more than ten minutes watching their babies cry out. For some reason, however, instead of being angry Paul’s eyebrows creased with worry as he approached his partner.

“Love, what’s wrong? Why are you crying?”

John had spent hours in the morning trying to decide what to wear. His stomach was distended and his ankles still swollen, his tits had grown and his back, knees, and ass (which was still fat) still hurt. His body felt tender and soft after the delivery, and he knew it’d be a while before he could feel comfortable in his own flesh again. However, that didn’t keep him from tearing up as he tried his entire closet in search for something that’d bring him to the land of the living again. His body was a mess, he thought while changing Heather’s nappy later. And all because of those two. He’d ruined his entire life because of those two. And for what? He shouldn’t be a mother.

Maureen complimented his overall when she and Ringo arrived, and Cyn helped John set the table.

“Why didn’t you tell us, you ass?”

“We weren’t completely sure until January, just before the marriage, and you lads were already up your nose with your own pups to say it…”

“You should’ve told us anyway! It’s huge, Ritchie!”

“Either way, I’m so glad you told us now. It’s amazing news! Congratulations!”

Maureen was pregnant. Two pups, Ringo had predicted.

When thinking of happy memories, as her own heart grew with excitement, Cynthia had failed to notice the bitterness that filled John and Paul’s mouths as they smiled at Maureen’s two months-old almost bump.

Ringo and Maureen hadn’t said anything when they’d arrived in the morning, but they exchanged some looks over the table. The babies smelt too much like Paul and Cynthia, and not enough like John. For someone as possessive as John, that was a bit out of character.

“They’re beautiful” Maureen heard herself saying later, as she helped John with the dishes. Cynthia had had to leave, and Paul was with Ringo and the babies in the living room “Julian looks a lot like you”

John succeeded in not grimacing. “Yeah, they’re worth the pain” he lied “You’ll see it yourself soon enough” he smiled forcefully. He was good at it, he thought.

“Yeah” Maureen’s face lit up “I’m really excited about it. It’s good timing as well, just after the wedding”

It was like salt on the wound. Paul and John were not married, mated or even together to the rest of the world. Paul could just leave at any moment if he wanted, for all John knew. To all biological and societal views, they were not tied together, and why wouldn’t he? After how shitty of a mother John turned out to be? Who wouldn’t?

“Yeah, it is. Just wait until you’ve delivered, though, that’s the real trial of a relationship. Your body will be a wreck, all distended and aching, nothing’ll fit, you’ll be disgusting and fat, and moody too, since both you and Ringo will spend nights on end barely sleeping, tending to eternally crying contorted faces. But I’m sure it’ll be fine, now that you’re married. Even better than us, because you’re married, though it’s hard to believe with how good we’re doing”

Maureen was looking at him, surprise and fear in her face. John realized he’d been raising his voice a little. He dropped the plate he was cleaning back in the sink with a clatter and a sigh.

“Sorry”

He raised his soapy hands to his face and started crying.

The following day they’d be taking a plane for the first day of shooting of the movie, and that’s why the early evening found the boys already in bed with lots of ready luggage surrounding them. The babies would come with them, obviously, despite Cynthia’s complaints about so much travelling with such young creatures. She’d be there to help them, anyway.

John laid awake for hours after the lights were turned off. He felt incredibly sad and couldn’t understand why. The love of his life was behind him, cuddling him with affection and exhaustion, and they’d just had two beautiful babies that were sleeping next door. However, John felt tears welling and pouring out of his eyes almost by their own accord, the feeling of a stone sinking deep in his stomach. Maureen had hugged and comforted him; told him it was normal to feel sad after the birth. “It’s the baby blues” she’d said.

Was it normal to wish death upon the babies and himself, though? Was it normal to feel so incredibly detached from the babies? To wish to disappear as to not have to smell them? Not wanting to scent them, marking them as his own? He didn’t want the babies, didn’t want to be their mother, didn’t want to look at them, hold them, feed them. He couldn’t stand their crying, their grabbing hands, their laugh as Paul made faces at them.

He didn’t want to bring them along to the filming of the movie, and the thought of being chained to them made him feel deeply depressed. This was his life now.

Paul woke up when John was full on sobbing and, worried, he hugged him tight and whispered sweet things in his hear, hushing him like he was just another baby. Maybe he was and that’s why he sucked so much at playing the mother.

John turned around and buried his head on Paul’s chest, feeling undeserving of his love as the alpha kissed and nosed at his neck, scenting him to calm him down. He didn’t deserve this, didn’t deserve to smell like Paul. To be part of his family. He was an imposter.

…

They hadn’t mated at the time of their return. They wouldn’t for about two or three months, as John needed his energy for the babies and thus heats wouldn’t happen.

Textbooks would have known to warn Paul, to prevent. But Paul didn’t know of them. And even as the new expandatory researches came out years later, and Ringo lost himself in the books, he was new to understand all those little misfortunes that happened back in the day: things they hadn’t been able to point out at the time. He’d known enough about heat cycles and pregnancy, and enough about the aftermath in a set, mated couple with healthy, living babies. He knew normalcy. He evidently hadn’t known the whole of it.

  1. _April._



The movie went alright. They had had to travel a lot, film during the day and record at night, and it was throughoutly exhausting. On top of that, and despite having Cyn caring for them, the exhaustion of looking over the babies was taking a tool on the couple. John blamed the nightmares on that.

Thanks to Brian, the filming began on the 2nd of April, which gave them a warmer weather to deal with, and they did all of the scenes John wasn’t in first to buy him more time. It had made John anxious though, when Paul left him alone in the house. Or with Cyn. Whatever. But once he had to leave the babies with Cyn, it was worse. The guilt over the relief he felt at abandoning his first-born children was almost crushing him.

The babies were almost a month old (twenty-six days, Cyn never failed to specify) when John started filming.

…

They were wailing again. John stared out of the window, tears running down his face. It seemed that these days crying had become to him as common and hard to stop as smoking (habit to which he’d quickly returned to after the birth), and John hardly tried to stop it when he wasn’t being watched. Now, as he sat next to the hotel window and stared at the snowy Austrian day outside, he just let the tears run. He really wanted to jump.

They were staying on the fourth floor of a nice hotel in the city, a few hours away from the Alps (where the filming happened). Today, John hadn’t been required, and so he’d stayed with the babies. Cynthia had used the opportunity to nose around the city.

The babies were hungry, he knew that. They wanted his milk. John cried with a certain desperation at the unavoidability of it: these were _his_ babies. He couldn’t run, wherever he went they would wail right behind him, asking for milk. It’d been over two weeks since the delivery, and John stared at the snow piling up on the street below, pondering how much of the impact they would absorb. Not much.

He took a deep breath, used the heels of his hands to wipe the tears and got up to feed his babies.

The filming ended on the 24th of May, and the boys were released from the tight schedule to focus on finishing the album before the end of June. It had been fun, in a way, making the movie. John didn’t think much of how fun it had been to smoke pot for the first time that month, and for the second time, and the third, and the fourth.

He hadn’t had a chance before, after all: he’d been pregnant and had had the mind to decline.

It was so fun to not feel dread swallow him all day long. And it helped him smile at the babies when it was hardest. Paul deserved a mother who smiled at his babies, who rocked them to sleep and scented them without crying. At the very least, someone who had the mind to at least pretend he cared. The babies deserved a mom who cared.

Plus, pot helped him forget how wrong his body felt. The aching had died down, and so had the swelling, but John’s hips remained too wide, his stomach too big, his thighs twice as wide as George’s. All of it forgotten after a couple of joints, as if they were but nightmares.

  1. _April 18 th._



_If only we’d known._

John sat spread over the sofa, sighing over the pages of one of the books Ringo had lent him. It almost felt like he was reading the rules of a game he’d played blindly and lost years ago, and only now he understood why.

> _“ […]_
> 
> _The consequences of still-born children in a batch (to mean, when one or more of the planned babies is born dead or dies immediately after birth, leaving behind one or more living siblings) for the mother can be quite severe, and can affect greatly the relationship she or he may hold with the living babies. It has been studied that the effects of this phenomenon are greater if it happens in the first batch that the mother delivers, however the differences between later batches or between omega or beta mothers has proved to be non-significant._
> 
> _Psychologically, still-birth is bound to have a deep effect on both parents, however greater it is in the mother, but studies have shown that the appearance of post-partum depression and/or post-partum anxiety in the mother is far more common than in the father, or the both of them. Particularly if there are surviving babies to account for, the likelihood that the mother experiences this is very high (89% of cases report such a condition), and it increases if it’s her/his first batch (95%) and, of course, if she or he has suffered from mental illness in the past. However severe it can be, the condition is very common, as still-birth in big batches (three or more pups) ranges from 1 in 6 cases (3 pups) to 1 in 4 cases (4 or more). [Note: later studies show that the likelihood of PPD in fathers is increased by 50% if the mother contracts it]._
> 
> _It should be highlighted the importance of the partner in this time of grief, both emotionally and physically present. It can be particularly difficult for unmated omegas, but it has been proven that in mated omegas who do not receive proper support from their partner it can be almost just as bad. The feeling of failure as their role of carrier can greatly affect their self-esteem and feelings of self-worth, and this is why having people around them to help them through this time is of great importance._
> 
> _But what are the symptoms of post-partum depression? A mother going through this often reports to feel tired very often, drained of energy, in particular when it comes to taking care of their children. They can experience mood swings and irritability, loss of appetite or, on the contrary, increase on food consumption as a comfort habit. There is a difficulty bonding with the baby or feeling any maternal instincts, and it’s not rare for mothers with post-partum depression to want to harm themselves or the baby, wishing for either themselves or the pups to disappear or die (escapism). There is a recurrent feeling of worthlessness and hopelessness, as the mother will often be horrified by their thoughts and feelings and will think of themselves as not fit for motherhood, fearing their future with the children that they can’t feel love for. Withdrawal from friends and family is common as a result of these feelings of inadequacy._
> 
> _“Every time I looked at my babies, I felt like I wanted to cry. My eyes would fill with tears and I’d just want to walk away. I’d hold them and want to drop them, smell them and feel disgusted. It is absolutely horrible to admit this, but it’s true. I didn’t want them, didn’t want them at all. I just knew I couldn’t be their mom, would never be good enough for them. I’d killed their brother, how good could I possibly be? I hadn’t been able to keep them all alive. I just looked down at them and thought “this isn’t mine. Shouldn’t be mine”.” – Carol McCoy, a survivor of post-partum depression after one of the babies of her first batch was born still._
> 
> _It is always important for mothers going through episodes like this to know that this isn’t going to be their lives forever. Post-partum depression has ended in suicide in many cases of young mothers, and it is important that the fact that it can be treated and overcome is spread. It is never the mother’s (or father’s) fault to feel like this, and there is always a solution._
> 
> _“I am greatly relieved that I was able to pull through. I don’t know what I’d do now if I’d killed myself or ran away. I look down at my beautiful babies (four years old, now) and feel such rush of love that I am almost overwhelmed. I went through a horrible time, but it was temporary. I’ve been now able to forgive myself and enjoy the great gifts life has given me. I might have failed to create four lives, but I created three.” – Carol McCoy._
> 
> _[…] ”_

“A Glass Half-Empty: impact of still-birth in moms and post-partum depression”, by Jacqueline M. Lauren (1974)

John closed the book and sighed.

…

  1. _April._



In April, something happened that put Paul on edge. While out on a dinner with John’s dentist, George, Pattie, John and Cynthia (Paul stayed with the babies) were drugged. LSD was put in their coffee by their dentist, and the bunch had stumbled out of the house to live one of their most crazy, out-of-body experiences. Despite his initial anger, John had nothing but fun memories of the experience (as did George) but LSD was not a drug Paul felt comfortable getting involved with when they were responsible for such young lives. John thought Paul was being too square, and they had an argument about that.

“I’ve been _nothing but miserable_ since those babies were born! I have the right to some fun!”

“They are newborns, John, they’re not meant to be a fun ride! And _they_ aren’t responsible for your neglect!”

“Ohh, it’s _my_ neglect now, is it?”

“Yes, it is! Doing hard-hitting drugs we know nothing about when you have two _one-month old_ babies is neglect!”

Cyn tried to take the babies where they wouldn’t hear. That was one event that, although they would never remember it, Julian and Heather wouldn’t forget. They certainly wouldn’t forget the cracking of their mom’s voice as he yelled:

“Well, surely they’d be better off without me! If I were worthy of them, there’d be three of them”

John wrote “Help!” in April.

Paul chanted “baby blues” to himself all night, trying not to think.

  1. _August 16 th._



Looking back at the mirror, he would know. He wasn’t looking now, but he knew he didn’t need the wisdom of the great elders of town to guess his destiny in this world as he was. Julian felt heavy in his arms, drinking his milk. His milk was the only warmth John was capable of giving his children. How could he offer more, cold as he was? How could he smile at them when he felt suicidal at the sight of them? He didn’t snort, but he thought about doing it. He tried to replicate some sort of energy on the outside, out of habit. But John almost snorted thinking about it that morning. As if he would, he thought.

As if he would deserve a family.

“Why not?” Paul looked dumbfounded. It was afternoon now, and John’s throat was tight.

  1. _July._



The European tour had been short and uneventful, and the boys were busy enough that John’s misery and diet rooted on alcohol and pot didn’t stand in the way too much. Paul managed to stay occupied, scolding his partner’s carelessness whenever it got too over the top for him to pretend that everything was okey, as was usual.

On fifteenth of July, John got very drunk and very high and then binged on sweets, sprawled on the floor of his kitchen. His nightmares about his still-born child mingled with those of his dead mother when he fell asleep. This year round, he wasn’t only mourning his mother: he was also mourning his baby. He mourned both his failure as a son and as a mother.

He was constantly reminded of his failures, as well, every time he looked at his babies. They weren’t his: he’d killed his baby. Surely, a mom who kills his babies is no mom at all. He didn’t want to hold them, smell them, look at them, a reminder of his faults. Oh, but he had to. Whenever Cyn or Paul weren’t around, anyway. Or when he wasn’t too drunk to stand.

He had rejected Paul’s sexual advances too many times now, John knew as he woke up the next morning in their bed, the alpha asleep next to him. Paul didn’t even ask anymore, and something about it made John feel even worse. Almost like Paul had given up on him and would now be ready to walk away and get another omega when John said the word. He’d tried helping, Paul had, by taking up more baby-related chores, in an attempt to lighten John’s burden. However, it only served to make John feel like he was not enough. He wasn’t a mother, he wasn’t a lover, he was just _there._ Crying all day and getting fatter.

John walked into the kitchen and Cynthia watched as the babies stopped their cooing and adopted still faces. John barely spared them a glance, but even if he had the siblings would’ve looked away. Their mom’s eyes were void of love, void of feeling, and Cynthia understood how they wouldn’t want to see that.

Paul got up an hour later and walked into the kitchen to Cynthia changing Julian as John drank his coffee, hungover, on the other corner of the room. Silently, he kept his chant up. “Baby blues, baby blues, it’s just the baby blues”.

Opening the door, he smiled widely.

…

> “I just don’t want to. Not now, anyway” John didn’t look away from five-month-old Julian’s small scrunched up face as he suckled. _Sorry._
> 
> Silence, and John tried not to look as anxious as he felt. Julian frowned a little.

  1. _August 14 th._



“It turned out pretty nice, didn’t it?”

John didn’t look up. He didn’t want to see the promotional pictures on the walls, and he didn’t want the boys to notice his eyes glistening.

“I think it’s pretty funny. Entertaining, y’know, fans will like it, right?”

“They’d like it more if you could act, though”

“Oh, sod off: you laugh but you’d be nothing without all those private lessons you keep getting from Pattie Boyd, huh?”

Paul dodged George’s playful half-punch and looked at John. The newspaper in his hands was scrunched-up, which kept him from reading the heading of the article. John didn’t need his bandmates to be concerned about it as well.

“You alright, love? Movie’s over. Want to get some ice-cream?”

It was the second time they went to see the movie, and John was holding the reviews from last week’s screening. He had noticed the first time he saw it, too, but reading other people’s concerns was much more hurtful. John braced himself and looked up, ready to leave that place as soon as possible, and forced a smile.

“Oh, no, I’m not hungry. Thanks, though”

…

> “All right, then” He thought it was the right choice, so he wasn’t expecting the wave of sorrow washing him as Paul’s footsteps retreated.
> 
> Julian started crying.
> 
> _I don’t deserve him anyway._

His heat didn’t come back until after they had finished the album, on the third month after the birth of the pups. They had planned to mate then, to bond. Paul looked at it as a birthday gift, too, since it was the day after his birthday.

However, when the day came, John asked Paul to wait a bit more. The kids were too little, and he wanted to skip his heat in order to be there for them. Paul agreed, and John took his pills.

On July, John forgot to stop taking suppressants. Paul didn’t say anything.

On August, John finally understood why he’d been dodging the event. After the 14th of August, when he’d scrunched up that newspaper, he’d come clear as to why he couldn’t let Paul mate with him.

_‘People like you and I, we got to work for it.’_

As if he would deserve a family.

Paul deserved better. So, that afternoon, he told him.

_“I just don’t want to”._

To Paul, it was illogical at first. He thought they’d been such a given, that after the birth of the pups they would just be together forever. So that night, as Heather and Julian slept in their crib in the room next door, he spent hours looking at the bottom of his empty glass. He’d emptied it a number of times already, but only now he was beginning to see reasons for John’s words.

Maybe it had been biological after all. Maybe during pregnancy he’d only wanted the alpha in him around for the pups. And now, Paul had failed to assure the survival of one of them. He’d taken a pup from John, he hadn’t provided enough, and John thought it was his own fault. Maybe now he realized he’d just chosen the wrong alpha.

Paul tried not to think about it as he moved his things into a different room of the house the next morning, tried not to think about how long would John let him stay for the sake of the pups before he became a weekend dad. Tried not to think about how stupid it had been to hope for John to love him too.

As bad an alpha as he might be, Paul knew he would try his best to be a good dad to his two living children. That’s all he could hope for. He knew he had plenty of happy masks that would help him through it.

  1. _August 13 th._



The movie premièred on the 6th of August. They did the interviews, read the articles. It was a rare, sober night when one drew John’s attention.

_“…and after the mentioned weight gain, we might have to refer to him as the “Fat Beatle” instead of The Witty one…”_

Three babies were bound to make you gain weight. But that didn’t mean the babies would cause him to _stay_ fat. “It’s been almost five months…” he whispered. Heather looked at him and saw an expression she didn’t like. She looked away.

He found another article the following morning, on their way to the second movie screening. He sat next to Maureen’s eight-months-pregnant belly to read it, and every word made him feel more conscious of his failures. Maureen had always been skinnier than him. It was her eighth month and both her babies remained safe inside of her. John looked away, scrunching up the paper. The movie started and John stared helplessly at his jutting gut and non-existing jaw line for about two hours. His hand twitched around the inked words.

“You alright, love? Movie’s over. Want to get some ice-cream?”

“Oh, no, I’m not hungry. Thanks, though”

…

His mom had been like that, he thought as he cooked dinner that night. Mimi often called her “sick”, but when John had asked Julia, she’d only laughed.

_“It’s easy for her, skinny as she is. I’ve got to watch my figure, Johnny: it’s nothing more or less than simple self-care. Keeping myself healthy has never been easy for me, and now I’m finally getting there she finds it in herself to criticize me”_

John thought, irrationally, that there was some truth to it. The mom he vaguely remembered from his childhood was very different from the one he remembered from his teens, when she was married again and with two other kids. She looked thinner, calmer, more organized and… good. Better. In control.

She’d been out of control before, after she’d given birth to John.

Like John himself was now.

_“Mimi doesn’t understand that not everybody has it easy like her. People like you and I, we got to work for it”_

_“Me too?”_ She laughed.

_“No, honey, you’ve got nothing to worry about now. You’re too young.”_

He wasn’t young anymore. He’d had his kids, and he was too much of a mess for them. He couldn’t hold them, look at them, hear them or even smell them without wanting to cry. He didn’t _want_ them: all he wanted to do was run away and hide. Five months in, he looked at Cynthia and had the sneaking thought that it’d probably be better if he died and Cyn became their mom. The babies deserved a real mother, after all, someone who was up to the task. John was but an imposter in that family, and everybody knew it, but no one said anything.

No, John would have to start smashing those mirrors. Breaking the illusions before they drove him crazy. He’d give up on being good enough for Paul and break up with him first: the illusion of the husband broken. The anxiety of being abandoned surpassed; like his mom had done with his dad. But he couldn’t walk out on the babies.

But maybe he could put himself together again. His mom had been a great mom for Julia and Jacquie once she’d regained control. _People like you and I, we got to work for it._

Maybe he’d be good enough if he lost weight. Took some control over his life.

The papers certainly agreed with him.

  1. _April 21 st._



John picked up the second book Ringo left him and opened it at the marked pages.

****

> _“ […]_
> 
> _Unmated omegas, when having puppies with unmated alphas, will be very sensitive and demanding of affection, a reaction born out of the vulnerability and defenselessness that the situation puts them in: unmated means that the alpha could leave, as there has been no commitment set, biologically. And if they leave, they will be more vulnerable to predators, as well as other alphas that might want to kill the puppies and claim the omega to impregnate them with pups of their own._
> 
> _In that situation, and under such pressure there’s three possible outcomes: the alpha complies and attends the needs of the omega until they can mate; the alpha stays but doesn’t comply to every demand, showing themselves distant in the omega’s eyes; or the alpha can’t bare the pressure and leaves._
> 
> _Unmated omegas that have had puppies with an unmated alpha and then abandoned, as is their fear, will go through a process known as ‘grief’, which possesses very similar symptoms to depression and paranoia. The omega knows that they stand defenseless, and since in early evolution alphas would often kill the puppies of unmated omegas in order to mate them and have them give birth to puppies of their own, the worry over their children might lead them to develop physiological illnesses (somatization)._
> 
> _On the other hand, if the unmated father alpha doesn’t leave but doesn’t comfort the omega properly, the omega won’t fall into depression but will exhibit several symptoms of paranoia and anxiety disorder, and will have trouble sleeping and eating (either too much or too little), as well as presenting jumpiness and irritability. The constant threat of being abandoned and the possibility of the death of their puppies never lets them rest, and the situation could be very dangerous long-term._
> 
> _If they aren’t constantly reassured and contained by their alphas, the omega might feel unsafe and in company of someone not willing to protect them and their puppies, and as such they might reject the alpha when the mating time arrives._
> 
> _Lastly, if the alpha is complaint and is good to assure the omega, the omega will only show mild symptoms such as anxiety over separation, jealousy, and possessiveness, but will be able to carry on until the mating happens. Should it not happen, however, after more than two heats, the omega’s symptoms will worsen until they become similar to the ones shown when the alpha isn’t complaint to their demands of reassurance._
> 
> _That said, it is important to note that such reactions are not only the product of the behavior of the alphas: the previous experiences of the omega regarding relationships (his upbringing, exposure to the dynamic of other relationships in early life), as well as his previous relationship with the alpha who fathered their children (how close they were and for how long, for example) will be great influence in how they live the experience. The character of the omega will also be a factor to be considered._
> 
> _All in all, biology is just a gift of evolution in the form of a guide to survival, but both our character and our experiences will be the ones to tilt the scale to one side or the other, and determine how we face unmated reproduction._
> 
> _[…] ”_
> 
> “The Gifts of Evolution in Our Day to Day Life” by Lennis Gray (1976)

He almost felt like an animal in a National Geographic episode as he finished reading. Julian kept sleeping with his head on John’s shoulder as his mom closed the book and sighed again.

  1. _August 22 nd._



John knew jealousy wasn’t the emotion he should be feeling when he was told his babies weren’t heavy enough. Paul didn’t say anything, but they both knew John hadn’t been feeding them as much as he should, and since the second American tour had begun on the 15th of August, the boy’s indulgence on pot and alcohol had skyrocketed, resulting on John’s repeated absence at night. Since they’d broken up just as the tour started, Paul hadn’t scented John at all, and this gave the boy a bigger sense of freedom as much as it unsettled him, which logically resulted in more substances consumption on his part. Paul, who’d been trying his best to ignore the situation of their broken relationship and its meaning in his life, had resorted to a defense mechanism mostly known as denial, and scenting his babies was his go-to comfort habit when John walked in smelling like other people (mostly betas, though, to Paul’s masked relief).

They’d avoided fighting most of the tour, but after that doctor’s visit it was almost unavoidable. Ever since their breakup, Paul had barely said a thing in reference to it, he’d done nothing to try and fix it, and a part of John felt betrayed by it. Even before the breakup, John had been passively expecting Paul to notice how bad things were and to say something, do something… But Paul ignored it. So, once John put it out in the open, he knew he’d forced Paul to acknowledge that something was wrong, and even then… Paul had done nothing. He’d felt guilt before, he’d felt crushing guilt and desperation for not being enough, but as the weeks rolled by John found himself growing angrier and angrier with his bandmate. His alpha had given up on him from the very start. He hadn’t even fought for him, hadn’t even tried, which confirmed John’s suspicions that Paul didn’t really _want_ to be with him and he’d stayed for the babies, and this heartbreaking knowledge often drove John to feel burning anger towards the father of his children. It was not rare for John to feel the overwhelming need to slap Paul repeatedly in order to squeeze a reaction out of him, an answer…

All of this meaning that, once outside of the doctor’s consulting room, John hadn’t held back and, being the topic at hand the well-being of their babies, Paul finally answered in kind.

“I _am_ there, every time they fucking _wail_ at me _,_ getting my nipples fucking _bitten_ , and you _dare-_ ”

“No, you’re not, John! You’re never fucking there! You know how _I_ know? Because _I_ am always there! And they don’t even have teeth-”

“Oh, you’re playing the poor soul, now? The good Samaritan? I didn’t see you with a fucking cement-filled balloon in your belly for nine months!”

“No: I was there attending _you_ and _your_ balloon! John, I can only do so much, and all I ask you is to _feed our babies_ , for God’s sake-”

“I can’t be there _always-_ ”

“To feed them?! Like it or not, John, you’re their mom!”

“And you’re their dad! _You_ feed them!”

Paul threw his hands in the air.

“I don’t have milk!”

“Take mine!”

They settled on John milking his breasts regularly and giving the bottles to Cynthia, which sat as a huge relief on John’s mind: he wouldn’t have to feed the babies anymore. More freedom.

Paul spent the next day staring longingly at the way Maureen rested her hands on her protruding belly, stroking lovingly. John did LSD with George and Ringo on the room next door.

…

John stared blankly at the mirror, analyzing his figure. They’d met Elvis the other day. The Elvis. And he’d seen himself next to Elvis for a moment, reflected on his huge mirror.

He knew he’d been doing too much pot and alcohol lately, and that wasn’t going to help him lose weight. But he’d been in such a state, relief from the break up (he wouldn’t be failing Paul as an omega if they weren’t together) and uneasiness from the lack of scenting, as well as the eternal responsibility of needy babies on his back… But now it was time to get it together. He couldn’t be more popular than Elvis and look like this. Elvis alone deserved better. He himself deserved better, as did the band. He’d cut it out.

The tour ended on the 31st of August, four days into John’s diet.

  1. _September 13 th._



Zak and Jason were born on the 13th of September of 1965. Alive, healthy, and well. They were only two babies, but they were healthy ones. Maureen had delivered them both, as planned, in a quick and efficient birth, and she looked at them both with such love and devotion that John had to look away. She was everything that he was not, and that he longed to be.

After his nightmare that night, result of his bingeing on sweets after having met Zak and Jason, John restricted his diet a bit more. It wasn’t only about looks, he knew, although he did long to be at least _something_ that was good enough. It was about punishing himself. He had failed, as the dreams kept reminding him.

Paul didn’t notice John’s nightmares that night, as he drank his scotch next to the babies’ crib. In fact, even if he had noticed, he would’ve probably envied John.

At least he did get to sleep.

He was eating blueberries for a minute, he thought, but maybe that was wrong too. And if the sky was blue or pink, or if the floor was wooden or grass, it didn’t just matter then because it flowed just right, in a way. Almost like a welcome home. He looked up and saw stars playing hiding and laughing (maybe they were angels, immortality was free if you prayed, they say), looked down and saw his own hooves for a moment, but then the water beneath him reflected him and he knew he was a walrus. He thought that was more like it, anyway.

He smiled and looked at himself, imbibed, for a good moment. He was falling into his reflection, and once he went through it he was looking up, lying on the ground. He could see the angels (they were little children) dancing and laughing together, getting closer and closer. He felt a presence lying next to him, and heard them laughing before the angels started dancing more frantically. He saw them shaking and love and joy cascaded out of them. Were they having sex?

He wouldn’t have cared, but the angels were kids. It was unnerving knowing they were older than him, had lived longer lives. ‘Maybe we’re all kids’, he thought. He saw them, beautiful, cracked skin, fake smiles, and a ginger one got close to him to whisper: “You got it all wrong” and as the kid got away she smiled and her smile was Julia’s “You got me wrong, somewhere. Where am I, John? I didn’t get married”. Next to him, the presence suddenly started wailing. He screamed, frustrated (he hated that sound), and closed his eyes as he was being shaken. “John! John!”

“Shut up, shut up, shut up!”

He opened his eyes and Paul was looking down at him, furious. He was inside, in his living room, lying down. The longer he lingered, though, the more shapes and colors switched and changed around him again.

“This isn’t even LSD” he heard the angry whisper “You know who’s looking at you right now?”

“Her” he pointed at Julia, who smiled from the ceiling. Her face was the wood pattern. _I’m not here, John._

“No. Your children are, lying next to you, crying and in old, dirty nappies that have already dried and hurt them, probably hours ago. And you’re high off your ass”

John didn’t answer. Paul’s voice was far away, his frown a caricature, and he was sure to be hearing a baby crying. The presence? Or was it Julia’s husband, hurting her again? He would treat her better than that, John tried to scream. He kept letting her die, but if he could reach her… But she was so skinny now. Wasn’t she dead already? Julia smiled with all her teeth.

_You got it!_

_You and I, we got to work for it._

That was a different voice. John turned and saw a skeletal ginger baby, and he cried. He’d killed her again.

Paul had already left.

  1. _March 3 rd._



“You know why, though?”

Heather looked up from the kitchen. “Why?”

“Because of Cyn” Julian looked at Ringo, the one who’d actually read the books the boy was currently holding. “Right?”

Ringo shrugged.

“I’m no psychiatrist, kid, but maybe so. I mean, John was out too much and Cyn was in enough to compensate, so it’d make sense that she kind of took his place in your heads as the mom. How’d Lauren called it? Bonding figure, I think. Pretty sure it’s some Bowlby fella’s idea. But anyway, maybe you two bonded with Cyn instead of John, but John remained your mother. He breastfed you for like, almost two years, ain’t it right? With a rest of a few months in the middle there” Julian hummed as Heather kept his eyes on the dishes she was washing “No matter Cyn’s help, his post-partum depression _did_ affect you; I know that. _We_ know that”

Julian shrugged, slumping on the sofa next to his godfather.

“I mean, we’re normal, cognitively and affectionally. This book says there would be less development in those areas”

“Yeah, that’s probably Cyn’s influence. And Paul’s, not to forget. But I wouldn’t be so confident about the affection part on you two: mood disorders often derive from there”

Heather rewashed the already clean cup as to not have to answer, and Julian frowned at the book. They wouldn’t often talk about Heather’s past eating disorder or Julian’s panic attacks.

Julian spoke in a quiet voice. “You know, knowing what he went through, I’m not even mad at how he was to us. I just really wish to hug him tight, y’know? Wish he didn’t have to suffer so much. Cyn was much luckier, not to diminish at all what she’s done for us.”

Heather was trying to hide her falling tears as she washed the cup for the third time.

Ringo chuckled a bit bitterly.

“Imagine how I feel” he said “having been there and not realizing he needed a hug”

  1. _September 19 th._



Brian’s birthday was on the 19th of September, and he decided to throw a party. The babies stayed with Angela and Jim, and John and Paul arrived in different cars to the party.

 _You should have seen them,_ Ringo would tell his godchildren years later, _acting like idiots._

Maureen hadn’t come, because of the babies, but Ringo was given a pass. He was a guest for the show John put on.

John had gotten drunk immediately and made sure to make eye contact with Paul right before he flirted with all the alphas in the room. Paul kept downing drinks in a more subtle way and talking to the guests amiably, doing everything in his power to avoid looking or going near John. The aforementioned drama queen got sick of the lack of attention after the fifth glass and decided to go for it. The loud moan sure worked to draw everyone’s attention to the center of the room, where an alpha was eating John, to put it lightly. Shirts open and hands too curious for public display, they were more or less about to have sex on top of the aperitives table.

They could all smell it when John slicked, but Paul felt truly nauseous when John looked into his eyes, as insolent as they’d been when he’d lowered himself on Paul’s cock during his second trimester, before moaning again. It didn’t feel freeing this time.

It wasn’t even all about the jealousy (although that was definitely part of it); it was about the humiliation. They hadn’t been together for the general public, but in their inner circles they had been strongly linked, and now John had made it public that he no longer belonged to Paul, as Paul didn’t belong to him. He’d humiliated Paul in his alpha pride, in his loss of his omega, his failure to fulfill John’s needs. He’d made sure Paul knew John was now of others, and he’d made sure he knew it at the same time as everyone else.

John went home with the guy. Paul vomited his entire stomach in the guest’s bathroom, and then left the party to go to a nearby pub. That was the point, Cynthia would remember, when she stopped seeing Paul without a glass of scotch in his hand.

That was the point, Paul would remember, when he truly realized he’d lost John.

  1. _October 26 th._



Heather played with his cubes, making soft small noises and eyeing her dad every now and then. Paul was silent, looking intensely at his MBE recognition laying on the table next to his hand. His hand was holding a glass of scotch. Again. It was almost admirable how sober he appeared most times with how much he drank, but Cynthia was not there to think about it.

Paul didn’t look sad, exactly. He looked spent. Empty, maybe.

Heather eyed him again, confused. She didn’t know how to interpret this emotion, but all she knew was that it looked an awful lot like her mom’s. As she moved the cubes around, her brother not too far away, she just hoped the expression wouldn’t stay and her dad would come back. She didn’t feel safe when her dad was not there.

Paul put the babies to bed before he poured himself another glass. An MBE. They’d gotten MBEs.

He knew he should be happy. He took another gulp, feeling guilty at his lack of excitement. He’d gone too long focusing on smiling today, and he was feeling emptier than usual. An MBE. Many had threatened to return theirs after The Beatles had received the prize, and some had come through with the threat. Paul wasn’t sure why they’d taken it. It laid naked and empty on his table now, and all he could think about was how meaningless it was. It was just a medal, metal laying lifelessly on the table, its identity nothing but what others interpreted of it. Paul felt a bit like an MBE himself, go figure.

Funny thoughts one had after a long day and one too many drinks.

  1. _November 5 th._



“Cyn! How nice seeing you! How have you been? It’s been a while!”

“I know! I should be the one asking, though, how’s it going for you two?”

Maureen laughed and invited her inside. “Dreadful, to be honest with you, but we hope it’ll calm down soon. Jason’s already down to one or two cries at night, though he wakes up if Zak cries”

“Oh, it all depends on their moods, doesn’t it? My mom used to say you could tell a young boy’s personality from the first month of their life, go figure”

Maureen laughed. “Dreadful prognostic it is for Zak, then”

They served tea in the living room, the babies sleeping in the crib next to the wall, wrapped in blankets to fight the settling cold of October. Ringo looked exhausted as he plopped down next to the girls after his shower, picking up a cookie from the table.

“I don’t know how Mo does it, she still looks splendid” he told Cyn conspiratorially “I’m more like a racoon who’s lived in the sewers a little too long” The girls laughed, and Maureen dismissed the comment with a hand gesture.

“You look dashing, darling. I’ve just had lots of preparation with how many babies I’ve babysat through the years, you know that.” She turned to Cyn “How are yours doing?”

Cyn laughed awkwardly “Well, they aren’t _mine_ , Mo, but they’re great. Julian’s really smart, you know, a very curious kid. He’s a bit shy, but not as quiet as Heather. I think she’s more creative, though: she’s very good at drawing. Ah, I should bring you one of her drawings next time”

Ringo smiled softly “And the boys?”

Cyn took a sip of her tea, organizing her thoughts. “Paul’s a very good and caring father. He’s always making faces at them and playing with them, picking them up and scenting them. Sometimes he has a bit too much to drink and is extra enthusiastic, but I don’t think the babies mind. I think they mind more when Paul hasn’t drunk enough…” she trailed off and drank another sip, trying to smile “And John is, you know, John”

_He isn’t there. He’s never there. He never scents them anymore._

Mo and Ringo didn’t say anything, and the conversation soon diverted to happier topics, but Ringo couldn’t stop thinking back on it. He hadn’t really paid a lot of attention lately, with his own pups coming, but even with half an eye on it he’d noticed the decline. He didn’t know how far down they’d come, and he didn’t want to know how far down they could slide.

“Have you seen Pattie lately? She came with George the other day, brought a feast of food, and I’ve got to tell you: she makes the _best_ curry I’ve ever had…”

“Oh, yes, I’ve tried it, it’s fantastic! She promised to pass the recipe, but I forgot to ask her. I don’t know how George hasn’t proposed to her yet, with how good of a cook she is”

“Well, about that…”

…

John knew better than to kill himself, but as he stared at his beloved children sleep that night, glass of scotch in hand and too sober for his taste, he had a really hard time remembering why. Cynthia was at Ringo’s, visiting, and Paul wasn’t home, and the thought kept coming to his mind that, if he really wanted to, he could do it. He knew it: could feel the will to do it in him. He knew he _shouldn’t_ , he knew better, but he also knew he shouldn’t feel so absolutely crushed in the presence of his own children. He couldn’t help the prickling in his eyes as he fought to find reasons to live in the form of his sleeping babies. He really fought against the desperation, the feeling that he shouldn’t be there. In that room. He shouldn’t be their mom.

He couldn’t even love them.

Heather sighed and moved, and a tear escaped John’s left eye. He swallowed the rest of the glass and the other tear fell.

He knew better, but the longer he looked at his children the more he had to remember why.

  1. _December._



They’d just finished recording Rubber Soul and the nine-day British tour came and went unexcitedly.

It was December the 13th when Paul decided it didn’t really matter all that much anymore, and he accepted some LSD at a house party. The boys weren’t there, and he felt the crushing need to do something that would make him feel again.

He woke up wishing it’d lasted longer.

…

Two weeks later, John received a call at his home. He’d been sleeping, but he woke up fully once he heard the caller’s words. Paul had had an accident.

A moped accident: he’d driven recklessly, and the vehicle had turned and rolled on itself several times with Paul in it. He had a parted lip and brow, a broken tooth, and he would need stitches.

_Adrenaline junkie._

John knew it wasn’t true, but he thought it anyway, trying to release tension after the heavy pounding of his heart and the trembling in his voice as he interrogated the caller. A guy Paul had been racing with. Tara Brown. A beta who’d been unhurt. John knew him, but he chose to ignore that in the jealousy of the moment. He’d made a fool of himself in front of him, after all.

_I’m ridiculous._

He’d acted ridiculously in front of Tara, who’d thought for a moment him and Paul had gotten back together.

_Ridiculous._

The drugs were good to go over it, cover it up. Beneath it, he still cared too much for Paul. He couldn’t allow that, couldn’t lose himself to someone who’d never cared for him in the same way, someone who he wasn’t enough for. John would have to know less, feel less, be less in order to survive. To move on.

That would be his New Year’s resolution. He even wrote it down.

…

The last thought John had on the night of the 31st of December was a very peculiar one. He’d been wondering around the city, as drunk as he was, and found an old pub located in a such an obscure part of town that no one was sober enough to recognize him as he strode in and plumped down on a stool, calling the bartender. There was a radio on, he noticed as he ordered, and, too drunk to do much else, he listened to it.

_“…And you know what he found, Clark?_

_“I don’t, Larry. What did he find?_

_“There are more young people going to Beatles concerts in this day and age than there are going to church. To church, you hear that? They prefer to go see these young musicians and scream than pray to their God._

Larry laughed, evidently surprised. “ _Well, but I suppose they_ are _praying to their Gods, Larry, it’s just different Gods now. I won’t be surprised if they took down pictures of Jesus Christ to put up those of these boys. It’s almost like The Beatles have started a new religion…_

_“They weren’t the first ones, either, if you remember the fever for Elvis Presley, but it’s grown immensely in just a few years. Bands like The Rolling Stones and The Beach Boys are arising similar adoration from their fans, although The Beatles are obviously the biggest. I hadn’t seen a phenomenon as feral and feverish as this beatlemania in my entire life, Clark._

_“Well, I do think the arrival of the T.V. had a lot to do with this arising fanatism…”_

John downed his drink, paid for that and another beer, and left before he could hear more. That night, as the Big Ben chimed the arrival of midnight and a New Year to come, John sat down at a park bench, drinking his beer and feeling tremendously small, tremendously human and small in a world too big for him. A world too big that had seen his face too much, that had asked him to be thin for them, funny for them, good-looking, witty… But they had never seen him as he was: a drunk guy on an empty park bench, lost somewhere in London. Just another person.

John thought about what Clark had said and found it disheartening. He did not want to be anyone’s religion. He did not want to try to live up to everyone’s expectations. But what choice did he have?

Such a silly thing, how people create their own Gods, he couldn’t help but thinking. It was Jesus then, it’s rock ‘n’ roll now. It’s in their heads, their Gods: the ideal of Jesus and the ideal of John Lennon, of Paul McCartney, of The Beatles. It’s them knitting their beliefs, them grasping blindly something to believe in that will get them through the day, that’ll give those mundane and repetitive days of work a meaning, a purpose. Work and convince yourself that someone else will save you: I’ll marry a Beatle, I’ll go to heaven, I’m loved and I love, I am part of something bigger. I’m heading somewhere. A meaning, which used to be in the Church and now is in the bright, colorful, neon T.V. How meaningless. And how dangerous for those who are put up in the pedestal and expected to be everyone else’s best dreams.

And if everyone prayed to him, John thought as the Big Ben chimed a last time, who was John supposed to pray to? He didn’t find it weird then, that so many celebrities ended up praying to themselves.

**Part II. _Cynthia’s memoirs from 1966._**

Years later, if confronted, both John and Paul would be forced to admit they didn’t remember a lot from the couple of years that followed, both of them having had their taste of excess. In what concerned Paul, he’d been drunk a great deal, yes, but mostly he’d just driven on adrenaline and work: he was devoted to burying his emotions and ignoring everything that would elicit any negative response from him. Thus, his episodic memory didn’t have a lot of files under the title of “1966”. John, on the other side, stayed properly high, drunk and occasionally preoccupied with diets and sex. He reinforced the public’s idea of him being an alpha for a while, wearing scent blockers and going hunting for beta girls at bars. He stayed mostly out of it.

It was a surprise for both of them, however, when Cynthia admitted that she’d kept an occasional diary around that time, and she’d written down most of the important events of the year in a mostly subjective way, observing the boys in ways they were unaware of at the time. Why, they would ask, did she keep a diary? Cynthia would blush and look away before admitting that it had been a result of her reunion with her school best friend, Phyllis McKenzie, on the 15th of January, for the first time in many years of separation. Apparently, she decided writing was a good way to disentangle her mixed emotions regarding the event.

Phyllis smiled haphazardly from where she sat on the couch, resting her arm on Cyn’s shoulders.

Cynthia’s diary. _22 nd of January of 1966._

It has been almost a week since Phyllis arrived from Brighton now, and the feelings and experiences I find myself living since her arrival have been in need of some sort of outlet now, a way to lay it down in paper for me to understand my own feelings and thoughts. I thought keeping a diary might help with that, and here I find myself with my pen and my hidden corner.

I hadn’t seen Phyllis since we’d parted ways in art school, when I moved to be with John during his tours and goings, and by the time I returned we’d settled in London. I heard later Phyllis had finished art school and moved to Brighton, but had had little news until this recent visit. I didn’t think I had, but the moment I saw Phyllis smiling at me carrying her bags in the train station, having just arrived and glowing with life, I knew I had missed her terribly. She made me smile even before she started talking, her aura bringing energy and… I can only call it “life”, to the whole station. And her scent… I’ve known Phyllis for so long (since we were young kids), and to think I’d forgotten how marvelous she is, is a bit of a crime, now. How easy it is to be with her, how almost inadvertently she fills me with calmness and ease. I can only be deeply thankful to have her by my side now, as things between John and Paul go to worse and I’m in charge of caring for the kids John is never there for.

Yesterday it was George and Pattie’s wedding, and I had the pleasure to bring Phyllis with me. It’s so lovely to be able to have her accompany me to the wedding, the two old partners in crime back in town.

And it was a truly lovely evening: I can’t help but to be a little jealous of how cute they were, how happy and beautiful. Pattie almost glowed: it was a sight for sore eyes. I have to guess they had it a long time coming, with how they’ve looked at each other ever since they met, but it’s still incredibly fulfilling for the heart to see it come together in this wonderful unity that is marriage.

I can only wish it had been the case with John and Paul now, but it’s too late. I haven’t lost hope, and Phyllis agrees with me (she’s met John before and knows him well) knowing how stubborn they can be, but I have to admit that I was somewhat glad that John didn’t make it to the wedding. Ever since Brian’s birthday, and after a very uncomfortable surprise birthday party we threw for John (in which John ignored Paul and Paul stayed out of his sight), they have been avoiding attending the same parties. I spent Christmas with Paul and the kids while John spent it with Mimi, and then Paul visited his dad and aunties for New Year’s while I managed to keep John from getting too intoxicated. It could’ve been worse, I think. At least, now I’ve got Phyllis to help me, who can’t stop joking about us force-feeding some couple therapy to the boys, and I can’t stop laughing at her funny faces. Did I mention she’s the funniest person I know?

Anyway, for George’s wedding only Paul showed up (after cancelling his holiday plans), having been confided the role of the best man, and gave a really nice and prepared speech before getting completely drunk and putting a bow-and-arrow through the car’s window [ _A/N: that’s the literal expression used by George and I have no idea what it means_] _._ He did kiss Pattie on the cheek for two of the wedding pictures, but I’m sure he’ll be forgiven in the morning. To be fair to him, he’d stayed pretty sober for the past parties (at least the ones including either John or the kids), so he deserved the break.

Either way, it was a very lovely wedding, and I didn’t exactly stay sober myself. Phyllis is very good at lightening up my more serious personality with jokes and, given the opportunity, as much alcohol as she can gather (to be fair with her, I hadn’t laughed this hard since John got pregnant, so I bless her company every day).

Cynthia’s diary. _19 th of March of 1966._

Today it was the babies’ birthday! Phyllis and I organized a small celebration, and Paul was wonderful. We convinced John to join, and although he was pretty stiff around the kids, he at least stayed mostly sober and tried to interact. I think even Paul was pleasantly surprised. But it is, after all, the babies’ first birthday.

Ritchie was also there, with Mo and the babies, who are six months old already! I wish I had a picture to attach, but a description will have to do: they are the chubbiest, loveliest, and most giggly babies ever seen. Pattie and George, tanned and back from their honeymoon in Barbados, were also there, as were Jim and Angela McCartney, Mimi, and a number of aunties. A truly lovely celebration, and although a bit intimidated by the presence of so many people, Heather and Julian laughed a lot and seemed to have a great time opening their gifts (Heather seemed more enchanted about opening them than the gifts themselves; I think she liked ripping the paper)

Also, Phyllis convinced me to paint the decorations: I hadn’t painted in so long! It was really fun, I’d forgotten just how entertaining making art with Lissie was (I took to calling her that old nickname I’d gave her when we first met, and she took to calling me Cindy again: I truly feel like a teenager these days). The babies helped paint as well: Heather made some really nice color patterns to hang around, and John even helped her. She was a bit wary of him but relaxed well enough when Mimi joined them and made her laugh. I am very happy and very tired now: it was a wonderful day; of those we’d been lacking as of late.

Cynthia’s diary. _23 rd of June of 1966._

I feel almost silly writing this now, but the truth is that I’d always fancied Phyllis. I think I’ve made it quite obvious in these entries how dear she is to me, but I just never thought she’d like me back in that way. She’s always been, after all, widely popular and a very social person, and her wanting to be with an omega like me just seemed so unlikely. She’s a beta, and that just means resigning herself to no descendance, a boring life with boring me. That said, I have never been so glad to be wrong in my entire life.

Tomorrow is the day the boys will leave: they’ll go on a short two-weeks tour around Germany and Japan, ending on the Philippines. Phyllis will move into the house with me to help me with the babies and I’m already buzzing with anticipation, it makes me so happy! She’s already learnt Paul’s new song for the album they just finished recording (“Revolver” by name) on guitar: “Here, There and Everywhere”, and promised to play to me daily. And there’s a story to tell.

We didn’t tell him when he played it to us, obviously, but we’d already heard Paul when he was composing the song: we didn’t tell anyone or make ourselves known because we were up in the bedroom, in bed, when the boys arrived, and it took us too much by surprise not to try to hide as we did. We didn’t sleep together in any sexual way, though: Phyllis slipped in my bed just as I was about to fall asleep, and we spent the entire night whispering and giggling to old memories. It was so intimate, and yet so innocent, I just felt weightless. And that’s when I found out that Phyllis is gay! She likes omegas and beta girls, but not alphas or beta boys! I was so happy I almost didn’t hear the sounds coming from the front door as the boys let themselves in (to be fair, it was almost morning already).

Once we shook the surprise, we thought best to give the boys some alone time, too. As the weeks had rolled by, the animosity between them had died down in intensity and then they just got along well enough to make co-habiting possible. It’s still a great downgrade from the marvelous friendship they used to have (though I’m convinced John’s still in love, from the way he keeps looking at Paul when he thinks no one sees him), but it’s something. Either way; the moment they arrived they went to the pool to lay down a while, and John fell asleep. We peeked through the window.

I can’t express in words the look in Paul’s face as he stared at John’s sleeping face (I’ll admit he does look like an angel while sleeping) and strummed the most beautiful melody, wonderful words of love helping carry it. I think I cried quite a bit, and even Phyllis looked moved. We held hands and felt the promise of love shining on all four of us from the sky.

It was truly moving, and now I can’t wait to relive that promise shining on Phyllis’ eyes as she sings to me every day for the following two weeks. What can I say? I’m the romantic sort.

A part of me wished John had reacted strongly to the song, too, once he heard it, but I guess I should’ve expected his skepticism. He at least showed up to Paul’s birthday party, and even gave him socks.

Cynthia’s diary. _8 th of July of 1966._

I haven’t had time to write lately. Phyllis stayed for the two weeks and it was amazing; she sang to me, we danced and painted and laughed and, overall, had a great time (if we overlook the amount of teasing I got from never realizing she was gay in the years I’ve known her). Even the babies love her, as enchanted with her humor and warm company as I am.

We also had our first time together intimately, and it was wonderful. It feels as though she was made just for me, and I am left wondering of all the things I could’ve had so long ago if I had only had the confidence to love myself enough to then let myself be loved. That is, I gather, what kept me from understanding the continuous flirting Phyllis assures me she bathed me on when we were younger and we presented: at the time I just thought I must’ve been imagining it. What a silly girl I was. Ah, but at least now things have taken a different turn and I find myself waking up surrounded by the most comforting scent I have ever smelt, and feeling a sense of calm and happiness settle in me I had never felt before, even when other lovers had scented in the past. It is truly a wonder, how mysterious and almost magic biology can be, creating such perfect compatibilities. I am thoroughly thankful to have her, anyway.

However, our two weeks of wonder ended in a terrible scare: the news arrived to us, through telephonic calls, that the boys had risked their lives in their last concert in the Philippines. From the beginning they’d been warned about the conflicts of the country, but they’d decided to play there nonetheless in order to reach those fans who deserved a chance at seeing them. Turns out that they were played from above and one small mistake was immediately taken with great offense, enough to kick them out of the country immediately after a pretty violent concert, in very inappropriate ways for good people like they are. They were shoved and pushed, and it was honestly a great relief (and a wonder) that none of them were hurt. Brian had to face lots of charges that did not correspond to them according to the deals they’d made, and a lot of money had to be put into easing the Filipinos. Both Phyllis and I are more worried about the tool it might’ve taken on the boys’ peace of mind. Right now, we can do nothing but wait for them to come back.

From what I’ve gathered from the phone calls, however, it didn’t go too bad: they’re all just very angry. John is openly angry and Paul is calmly angry, while the other boys sit in the middle. Quite expectable, thank God.

Cynthia’s diary. _10 th of August of 1966._

I can’t sleep. I’ve gotten up to write while Phyllis rests on the next room, because I’ve figured that writing about it might help me figure out this whole situation and ease my thoughts.

The boys will be leaving for another American Tour (presumably the last, from what I’ve gathered) in two days, and all hell has been set loose on America in their wait. It is not a nice wait. On the 4th of March, John had done an interview for a London newspaper in which he talked about how the Beatles have been statistically found to be, in this day and age, more popular than Jesus Christ himself: more people have been found to attend Beatles’ concerts than the Church. To be clear, and so I don’t forget, what he said was:

> _“Christianity will go. It will vanish and shrink. I needn’t argue about that; I’m right and I’ll be proved right. We’re more popular than Jesus now; I don’t know which one will go first – rock ‘n’ roll or Christianity. Jesus was all right but his disciples were thick and ordinary. It’s them twisting it that ruins it for me.”_ _[ A/N: this is a real quote found on Wikipedia]_

The article was published in America on the 31st of July, and ever since it reached the Christian belt of the south it has caught fire like dry wood: television has shown images of fans burning records and items of merchandising of The Beatles with such a violent rage that I could not help but beg them to cancel the tour. Besides, after the Philippines, why would they need to risk themselves again? Oh, but they insisted, and even Phyllis took their side, so I can only sit here and pray for their well-being, to whatever God will listen. I do believe they’re too confident in the security offered by guards and police, but I think the tipping point is pride. John was high on pot when he assured me that more people still loved them than not, and the brutality of those who didn’t just showed such a “stupidity” and “simplicity of mind” that he was glad they would stop calling themselves their fans. It’s pretty reasonable, and as I write it down it eases me some, but it’s still a dangerous quest, and I’m still convinced at least 65% of their reasons to go on are rooted in pride. I can only sit and pray.

Going back to it, however, I’m glad about the way they took the news: not one of them was mad at John. I’m not surprised about Paul’s immediate defense of Johnny, though, as it did surprise Phyllis, but I don’t think she’s been around Paul for long enough yet. I’ve found that, no matter what the boy does to him, Paul will always be the first person to defend John to death from the rest of the world. John is the same, too, but only when the insult comes from someone else. He can trash Paul as publicly and as much as he pleases, but if anyone else initiates an attack on the alpha, he’ll be on their neck. It’s almost funny; a childish gesture you’d find between brothers.

They are _not_ brother-like in much else though, and I can’t help but giggle at the notion.

Well, I’m properly tired now that I’ve gotten this out of my chest, and I better go back to bed. At the very least, and if worry doesn’t completely cloud the experience, I’ll still have a bit more than two weeks, once again, to spend alone with Phyllis.

Cynthia’s diary. _11 th of September of 1966._

Yesterday it was my birthday.

I have to take a few breaths now before writing here, as emotion fills me. Phyllis proposed to me. Phyllis proposed to me! I can’t express my feelings as I am experiencing them, but I think “overwhelming joy” is a good approximation. I am a crier, I’ll admit, but I’ve never cried so much out of joy than in the past, say, twelve hours of my life.

She threw me a party at nightfall, and everyone was there (even both John and Paul, however stoned, and Ringo with Maureen and the babies -who turn one in three days! -, George and Pattie, Brian, my whole family and friends, and even John’s aunt, Mimi, who I love. Jim and Angela took care of the babies for the night). It was an amazing party, and it wasn’t until the candles on the cake were lit and I was expecting “happy birthday” to be sung to me, that instead of that everyone in front of me stood aside to make room for a sort of corridor at the end of which was Phyllis, holding a guitar and starting to play “Here, There and Everywhere” to me. Everyone stood silent as she approached the table and, as I cried and she finished the song, she rounded the table and kneeled before me, taking out a little velvet box with a ring in it.

I can still hear her voice as she asked me to marry her, but I can’t see her, because the tears running down my face were clouding everything. I just couldn’t stop. But I can smell her even now, in me, in everything, as it should be, as it always will be. It’s like a dream.

Obviously, I said yes, and everyone clapped and cheered, and then Paul approached us to joke that he’d have to give us the song as a wedding gift, since we’d clearly stolen it already, and that was the last that I heard before everyone was talking at the same time. They ended up singing happy birthday to me in a very messy way, and I blew the candles with my mind blank: I could not think of a single wish, I had everything I could ask for and more.

It was the best day of my life, arguably. We went to bed early, followed by a lot of whistling, and spent the loveliest night together. I still can’t believe this. I have never received a better birthday gift, and I don’t think I ever will. Phyllis is now calling me from downstairs (she’s calling me “love” and I’m so happy I can barely breathe. We’re engaged! I’m her love!) saying that breakfast is ready, so I better go now!

…

The wedding was set for December, and John knew the deal he’d had with Cynthia was about to end. She had agreed to be his mask, his public partner, until she found her own, and now she finally had. He was happy for her, really, after all she’d been through, but he also felt a little bit empty, almost tired. She was going to have her own family, so now he’d have to take care of his own. He thought of this as Heather kept suckling his milk and he caressed her soft blonde hair. He still didn’t feel love, as he should feel, but at least now he didn’t feel disgust or overwhelming sadness in their presence. He just didn’t feel much.

He didn’t mind feeding them milk anymore, either, which is why he’d stopped using the bottles. The babies were almost eighteen months old, now, but they were still young enough to attempt to bond over breastfeeding for the time they had left, or so John tried to convince himself of. Better now than ever, he thought. He wouldn’t be like his father, disappearing forever, or his mother, coming back when he was already a teenager. He still had time, and now the proper opportunity. Maybe now that Cynthia wasn’t going to be there every day, he could learn how to love them.

Heather didn’t look at him until he touched her hair again, softly, and she glanced up. John looked at her features, so unlike either Paul or himself (Paul insisted she looked like his mom, but blonde; a missed opportunity to call her Mary – although neither regretted honoring the nurse) and smiled. It wasn’t forced, exactly: it was just a tired smile. Heather, startled, stared at him for a minute as she suckled, and John just kept caressing her hair.

It would take time, but he knew he would love her. It was written in her almost hopeful eyes. It was written in his tired but genuine smile. This was his daughter.

It was over a year later that the articles came out, but it was still funny to the boys as they remembered, decades past, those news that came out about Paul. Paul being dead and replaced by a doppelgänger, Paul having had a car accident and died, and the desperate clues left by the boys in the album covers and songs.

It was very funny that the date they picked for Paul’s supposed death was the 9th of November of 1966.

The day John Lennon met Yoko Ono.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, I should clarify some things:  
> 1\. Those articles you read are made up (as are the books, the only real fella is Bowlby). The one referring to PPD has some cientific backing (I read some articles beforehand) but obviously nothing was found regarding effects of one still born, one or more living babies in the mother. I guessed.  
> 2\. I'm so sorry this was such a long chapter it'll get worse. If you're reading this, thank you so much.  
> 3\. The dates are not always 100% accurate, like the date when the movie was filmed, which here is "moved bc of John's pregnancy", but I tried to keep them accurate.  
> 4\. You might've noticed this chapter is different from the previous one? The ones to come are gonna look more like this one, since the first one is called "Of The Beginning" bc it's like an intoduction to their situation. Sort of.  
> 5\. I forgot what I was going to say. Thank you for reading. See you in another year or so <3


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